Where Gods Lose Their Way
by Dizzydodo
Summary: In a world where everyone has the name of their soulmate on their wrist, Khan's wrist was empty while he was conquering earth. But after Marcus wakes him up, the name 'Leonard' has appeared. A fill for the above prompt, complete with an exploration of one of my favorite tropes and plenty of angst and smut to go around.
1. Prelude

Hearing was the first sense to return. Voices dancing at the very edge of his consciousness, low and high tones blending into a cacophony of speech but the words they spoke were just beyond understanding. Khan fought to turn his head toward the sound, offer an assurance that he was alive and well; he could hear the steady beat of his heart and the blood rushing through his ears as strong as ever. His muscles were uncooperative, unused to obeying commands after languishing so long.

His eyelids were heavy but with some effort he forced them open, blinking rapidly at sudden light; sensation returned even as his fingers began to twitch, nerves reawakening with agonizing slowness. He could feel cool metal just beneath him as he turned his face to the being standing closest. Human male, approximately sixty-five years. Most importantly, he wasn't crew. When the unknown stretched an overbold hand toward his arm, Khan reached for the frail wrist, intending to crush it in his grip-

Only to find it was clamped in a restraint. This one was not entirely a lost cause.

"Khan Noonien Singh?"

There was reverence in the spoken name, a shade of fear coloring the man's otherwise demanding tone, and well there should be; his reputation for ruthlessness in an age when no mercy was expected had not been easily earned. It was not hard to divine the cause for that distinct undertone of satisfaction, but the restraints could only be temporary measures; he was more of a danger than this creature would credit.

"Yes." He intoned, fighting the stiffness of his own tongue while watching the eyes above him brighten with ill-concealed excitement. This man was not half the professional he sought to portray.

"Admiral Alexander Marcus. Welcome back to the land of the living." Accompanied by a smile brimming with false warmth and containing entirely too many teeth.

Khan mirrored the expression, already rapidly assimilating the available data from his environment: medical facility, obviously. From the absence of any noisy feedback and the relatively few number of personnel he could feel hovering just beyond his sight, it was likely a private facility. He must have been asleep for some time, that uniform indicated a rank he was unfamiliar with. 'Federation' implied a level of organization the non-enhanced hadn't even begun to aspire to, scattered as they were in myriad cells at the time of his downfall.

"Admiral of which fleet?" He enunciated sharply, caught the brief flash of uncertainty across features clearly unaccustomed to contorting in such a way.

"All of that will be explained later. The first, and only, thing you need to understand now is-" Marcus leaned forward, biting out his words, "I own you."

It took a minute for Khan to recognize the barking growl in his throat for laughter, but his body fairly shook with mirth, mouth curving into a genuine smile that had the petty admiral taking a step back.

"I doubt it." He murmured, turning his head to lock gazes with his captor. "Tell me, Alexander, do you have anything stronger than these restraints?" A threatening groan sounded as they were painstakingly separated from the slab on which he lay.

"I have your crew." Marcus shot back, a snarl replacing his falsely genial smile. Khan immediately ceased in his efforts to free himself, lying still and pliant once more.

It was obvious from his arrogant sneer Marcus knew exactly what that meant. If it had truly been as long as it seemed since he was first consigned to his eternal sleep, then sparse records probably existed detailing the bond he shared with his men and women; one that linked them closer than family.

"I suppose you are about to propose an exchange for their release?" Khan stretched insolently, baring his vulnerabilities without a hint of the anxiety Marcus had doubtless expected to see.

Marcus hesitated a second longer, possessed of some foreboding that warned him once these words were spoken they could never be called back. Still, he knew his duty.

"The Federation is prepared to offer you their lives in exchange for services to be detailed at a later date."

Clandestine, then, deeds kept from the censure of the public eye. It would be terribly awkward for Marcus and his colleagues if word of this agreement were leaked, but given the history of his own crew, would it necessarily benefit him to attempt it?

Khan licked his lips, spoke softly, compelling the fool to lean closer in order to catch his muffled words. He could not know how very subservient it appeared, the theoretical superior bowing over the bed of his captive.

"I had expected better from someone of your rank, admiral; cornered animals are known to fight hardest. We are, at our base, no better than they."

"You're very articulate for a man just waking from a couple centuries of sleep-"

Centuries. There was every chance the records of his time were incomplete or flawed, an advantage he intended to exploit when he brought this man and his superiors to their knees for this assault.

"Can I release you, or are you going to give me trouble?"

_Oh yes, certainly._

"No." He nodded to the restraints tightly, unresisting when they were finally released. Khan sat up gingerly, dismissing the ringing in his ears and the brief wave of nausea sudden movement sent through him.

He noted the men on either side of the doorway, armed with implements whose use wasn't difficult to divine. It would take some experimentation to see how vulnerable he was to their effects, but all in good time; for now he focused on appearing as non-threatening as possible.

As he moved to fold his hands passively in his lap, Khan's eye was caught by a flash of darkness at his wrist, something new and unexpected.

It can't be.

It took every ounce of his not-inconsiderable discipline to keep from gaping openly at his precious gift before a foe who would certainly exploit it in the same manner as his crew.

Carefully he turned his wrist in toward himself and fixed his eyes on a point just beyond the admiral's shoulder, hearing his words but unable to make any sense of them, caught as he was in the grip of a rapidly burgeoning euphoria.

There is yet a shred of light, even in the darkest of hours. Many of the ancient sages and philosophers had said as much.

Khan Noonien Singh had never been a man to credit such trite homilies, and yet to be given this opportunity now, when his crew was held from him by a man determined to use the blood that flowed in his veins for purposes as yet unknown…

At that moment, Khan made peace with his fate, and in some corner of his spirit offered quiet thanks for this promise, even as his mind was consumed by the obstacle that Admiral Marcus presented in the rescue of his crew.

He would use Marcus as he was in turn used. In the end, his victory was assured; he would have his crew, his vengeance, and his mate.

!

!

Khan trailed silently behind his captor, noting the tense set of the man's shoulders, the tempo of his steps increased each time the distance between them narrowed by the merest centimeter. Even with two 'security' officers trailing close behind, weapons in hand and obviously prepared, this man feared the monster he had woken. What manner of man would be so foolish or so desperate that he would threaten the devil himself?

He could make use of that fear later, play upon it until Marcus' mind was filled with thoughts of how to subdue and control his weapon, leaving him vulnerable to a more subtle method of control.

That was certainly the most appealing option, but hardly to his tactical advantage at this early stage. Unfamiliar as he was with this time and its customs, it would be best to wait and make use of whatever sparing resources Marcus chose to allot him in the name of cooperation. The more information he could collect, the easier it would be to disappear when the time came to put his plans into motion.

Several key differences were already blindingly apparent; social mores had been altered in ways he might not have noticed save for the change in his own unique circumstances: they all covered their marks.

Everyone from the nurse that had stepped meekly aside as he strode from the room where he had first awoken to Admiral Marcus himself, had covered their wrists so that no hint of their Designations would show.

Khan wondered idly if it was a result of the secretive nature of their profession or if the practice had become standard in this Brave New World.

In his time those marks would have been proudly displayed; the circumstances were rare indeed that anyone would voluntarily hide their Designation from even the most inimical eyes. Only Nulls felt any need to hide their wrists, covering their bare skin to hide their shame, their unworthiness made plain as the mark that never manifested.

Most Augments had been Nulls, given strength and cunning that far outstripped their unaltered peers, but left without the brand most considered to be the not only the right, but the defining characteristic of humanity.

A handful of enterprising zealots had been quick to seize the opportunity, claiming that the greater percentage of Augmented Nulls as opposed to "natural" Nulls was proof positive they were abominations that fell outside the natural order.

Their reasoning was positively medieval. Indeed, there had been a time when Nulls were viciously persecuted, their bare flesh seen as a mark of God's disfavor or even a sign of a pact with the devil. Of course, the radicals' message had been suitably adapted so as not to offend modern sensibilities, but their underlying belief remained the same: it was a harbinger of the fall of the Human race- the blight would have to be destroyed wherever it was found lest the malady were passed on to future generations.

One unintentional outcome of the drastic stance was how much simpler it had become to convince Augments that an alliance was in their favor. With the Naturals snapping at their heels and their own innate superiority ready to betray them at any moment, most Augments had seen the wisdom of keeping to their own kind.

Once they were united in purpose it was a simple task to shift from a defensive strategy to an all-out offensive designed to purge the earth of inferior stock, those Augments or Naturals who stood in the way of progress.

It had taken years of careful planning, skillful diplomacy, and ruthless cunning, but it had all been worth it when at last he had found himself the unchallenged governor of the greatest territory yet established by any Augment. With his small crew, Khan had swiftly instituted measures designed to curb revolt and foster an attitude of reverence in those he had spared- those that had surrendered, those that had proved too stupid or too meek to attempt rebellion or that had seen the hand of progress in his work.

Justice had been hard to come by in those days, but he had tried to craft an equitable system where Augments and Naturals could dwell in relative harmony; peace led to prosperity, and prosperity to advancement.

The sheer number of them though! Naturals bred like rabbits, and no amount of the mandatory sterilization campaigns or careful elimination of Designated pairs carried out by his peers had prevented their spread. For all the Augments' superior wits and strength, the Naturals had an army at their command, and once it had occurred to them to unite beneath a single banner and act as one rather than engaging in unorganized guerrilla warfare, it had spelled the end of a dawning age.

Eventually even Khan had been forced to flee and his loyal advisers with him, all of them swiftly disposed of like so much rubbish; presumably few records of the true magnitude of their works remained.

In retrospect, that was all to the better; any part of himself he could keep from Marcus might yet prove useful. The man could not be expected to defend against an enemy he only half understood.

"You will be quartered here."

Khan snapped into the present easily, betraying no sign of his preoccupation. Marcus had gestured to a small room, spartan in decoration and conspicuously lacking in anything that might be fashioned into a conventional weapon.

A bed, a table, a chair. All bolted to the floor, all rounded and without any sharp edges, even the sheets had been stripped from the bed. Did the admiral expect him to hang himself in a fit of despair? How little he knew his prey. At least there appeared to be a change of clothing laid out on the bed; he could hardly do worse than to be dressed as he was now.

"Adequate."

Khan permitted himself a flash of pleasure at the frustration writ plain on Marcus' face; apparently the man had been expecting a protest, something considerably more grand than the single word he had been offered.

"Change, then you will meet me in my office; I'll leave these two to escort you." Marcus gestured briskly to his lap dogs, panting eagerly at the thought of being left alone to perform this insignificant duty. Discipline must be a virtue sorely lacking in the admiral's vaunted fleet if his underlings were so transparent as this.

"We have a few matters to discuss before I'm ready to clear you for transfer."

Khan hummed noncommittally, stepping into his temporary quarters with no break in stride and waiting patiently for the door to hiss shut behind him before he dared glance again at that telling mark emblazoned across his inner wrist.

For a moment he couldn't bring himself to do more than stare in disbelief; his composure was shaken so thoroughly that he allowed his free hand to reach for the firm support of the solitary table in the room.

It was pure superstition, the belief that some higher entity decided whether a person was worthy of being granted a Designation, the gift of another being perfectly matched to their every cutting edge and ringing hollow. It was a child's fantasy to believe that anyone was born incomplete, craving some external element to be acquired later in life. It was the purest romantic drivel, fodder for insipid bedtime stories, to lend any credence to the idea that a man could ache for someone he had never known.

Yet the evidence was here before his eyes, etched deeply into his flesh for anyone to see. Khan could feel it burning there, taunting him with possibilities he had never even dared to consider.

A mate. A match. A perfect equal, here in this time when Augments were no more than a long-forgotten legend, probably bogeymen used to send recalcitrant children scurrying for their beds. The idea was at once too shocking to contemplate and too immediate to ignore.

Worse, it felt right that it should be there, now that he stood on such uncertain ground striving to ascertain which role he must assume to attain his ends. The mark was a lifeline, an indelible promise that his defeat had been preordained those many lifetimes ago, and that victory was yet in his grasp.

If he and his crew had not been consigned to stasis and left adrift for the first ship that happened across them, he would have lived and died incomplete- always something less than whole, a broken tool though he never would have known it.

That had all been changed by some twist of fate he hardly dared question even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

With an effort Khan pushed aside his wild imaginings, the sudden ache of sheer need he'd never credited, the bone-deep regret at the precious time that was already wasted.

It took more than a little effort to focus every shred of concentration on the business ahead. If he did not step carefully now, he would lose any chance of ever finding that perfect complement, and any chance of bringing this new Federation to its knees before them.

One final fanciful thought, only a pipe-dream to dull the edge of suffering unfurling within this new emptiness. When he had resurrected his family, when he had shaken this corrupt union to its very foundations and brought it tumbling down into the dust, he would seek out his missing half at last and lay the pitiful remnants at his feet. Then Khan knew he would finally be worthy of the gift only now afforded him.

It was an unparalleled opportunity, and he intended to seize ruthless hold of it. But first there was much to learn, beginning with how much Marcus knew of him and what he could expect in the days to come.

!

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><p>!<p>

!

"Hey, Bones! You coming or not?"

'Bones' McCoy took a breath, held it for a moment as he counted down the many reasons he owed Jim Kirk a favor… otherwise known as every reason he mustn't toss his nosy captain out the nearest airlock the next time they drew scouting duty.

"Not. We've been over this-"

"I was hoping you might have changed your mind." Jim smiled hopefully, leaning farther into the cozy office. "Uhura's been telling me about this club that just opened downtown-"

"My answer is still no. I promised Jocelyn we'd talk tonight, not that it's any of your damn business-"

"So talk to Jocelyn then join me. Have a few drinks, maybe a dance," Jim wiggled his eyebrows dramatically, "Make nice with the locals."

"Damn it, Jim, take a hint. I'm two weeks behind on these reports and all I want is a single night in to deal with it. You make nice with the fucking locals, or is it the other way around?"

If Jim noticed the strain beneath his smile he was good enough not to comment on it. After years of friendship he had finally reached that point where he could tell when it would be best to back off and drop the argument. Whether he actually chose to do so was still at fifty/fifty odds.

Leonard could see Jim's natural bossiness warring with his common sense, there was a fair bit of worry mixed in too- Goddammit. When was Jim going to learn it was his CMO's job to fret over the welfare of the crew, his own included?

Common sense won out by a small but telling margin; Jim inclined his head in resignation, but he was still visibly concerned. "I'll keep my comm on me, in case you change your mind or anything. Just let me know." A hopeful smile, slightly abashed.

"Sure thing, Jim. Now if you'll kindly get going, I'll give Jocelyn a call and get back to my work."

"No need to tell me twice." Jim ducked out of the room before Leonard had the chance to inform him that he had in fact been told three times, but the fourth time had been the charm.

He waited a moment, listening for the click of boots in the hallway, making sure Jim was really leaving rather than waiting in ambush. A moment longer and he settled comfortably into his chair, bringing up the view screen to enter Jocelyn's personal I.D.

It was only a moment before she answered, still smiling over some joke she would doubtless share with him if he dared to ask, but he didn't. Not now.

"Leonard, you're late." That smile was just for him- fondly exasperated, the sort of smile an old friend might offer another after a long and unexpected absence.

"Nothing new on that front, at least."

The wryness in his voice earned him a snicker; was a time she would have lit into him something fierce for daring to be even a minute behind her schedule. Clay's easygoing manners were rubbing off on her for the better.

"Where's Jim? I thought he'd be hovering again."

"I shooed him off; he's probably already found himself prettier company for the night. In fact I'd wager my last credit on it." He grinned, inviting her to share in his amusement, but the sudden twist of her features warned him he had said exactly the wrong thing and now he was going to be treated to another specialty of Jocelyn's: helpful nagging.

"I was starting to think you two must be joined at the hip. Why aren't you out with him?"

"Bad form to leave a lady hanging, I told him you and I had a date." His attempt at humor fell far short if her deepening frown was anything to go by. His frustration only grew when she answered in that soft, cajoling tone she had only ever used when she thought he was being pigheaded.

"Leonard, you'll never find him if you keep hiding in your quarters or taking on extra duties every time you have a chance to get out. You should have let me know you were going with Jim-" Sometimes he regretted ever showing her his Designation, not that he'd had much of a choice what with the two of them being married and all.

"God damn it, Jocelyn. Can't you leave it alone? I don't recall you objecting so much when I proposed, different marks and all."

"That was different. I didn't know-"

"And I don't care." Leonard sighed, slumping down in his chair, the weight of years worth of disapproval resting heavy on his shoulders once again. "I wish you wouldn't bring this up."

Once Jocelyn had been of the same mind as he. Neither one of them had given half a damn that some birthmark supposedly dictated their One True Love or Soulmate- the bullshit propaganda that blasted them from all sides. Destiny wasn't written plainly in the stars, why would it be engraved on anyone's skin?

The Nullification movement had been at its height then, decrying their slogan of Solitude Is Strength. Leonard had never been much of an activist himself, and with catch-phrases like that he could be forgiven for thinking most of the Nulls must be crackpots, but he had appreciated the message that he was worth something as an individual. Particularly when everyone around him was convinced they were no better than one of a pair, somehow unfinished without that mystical 'other half'.

Senior year in high school and Leonard was one of the few students that didn't waste his time wondering when his 'chosen' was going to come bounding in with a rousing fanfare to sweep him off his feet; the very idea made his skin crawl with uneasiness. Coincidentally, Leonard had found another that shared his distaste for childlike delusions; one surprisingly graceful dance and a laughing conversation later, Jocelyn and he had been fast friends.

A few weeks of taking refuge in each other's company and they had decided to try their hands at something more.

One by one they had stood by and watched as friends found their partners. They deflected well-meant advice and stoutly ignored the superior looks from those that knew their Designations didn't match. Leonard had proposed fresh out of medical school, and Jocelyn hadn't hesitated to accept.

They had both dismissed the disapproval and occasional vitriol thrown their way when someone noted that their Designations did not align.

There was precedent for marriage between those not 'designed' for each other; even now there were the odd cases of Nulls whose marks never appeared. They were reviled by purists and practically worshiped by the Nullification movement that had taken their name for a rallying cry. There had even been cases of Nulls marrying those that carried a Designation; nevertheless, it had caused something of a stir both in the McCoy family and the Darnells when he had dared to present Jocelyn as his intended.

Selfish, his mother had called him. Jocelyn's parents weren't much better, telling her she was bound to come around and wouldn't it be a shame if she met her Designated after she was tied to another man? It was disloyal, unthinkable, a lot of other adjectives that had flown in one ear and out the other. They were in love. Jocelyn knew his story, the Designation he could not read, the mark she could but didn't care for.

They had scheduled the wedding for mid-Autumn and spent the whole Spring looking for a minister willing to perform the rites. That had been beyond even their combined abilities, but they had found a justice of the peace willing to stand as witness in a church Leonard hadn't set foot in since childhood.

Most of the invitees chose not to attend the small ceremony in protest to the affront; only a few close friends came to show their support, and a few curious acquaintances Leonard would just as soon have avoided. To them he and Jocelyn were nothing more than a passing curiosity, some kind of circus act for morbid busybodies. They had both remarked the distaste on the faces of even their most supportive guests when the officiator had pronounced them wed.

Out of respect for Jocelyn's family, Leonard had tactfully postponed the traditional kiss and forbore mentioning their plans for the honeymoon they had painstakingly planned. It was no mean trick to find a city willing to take them as they were, somewhere where Non-Designated pairings were not so odd as to cause remark.

For a while all had been well. They had been good together, Jocelyn and he. Both of them were ambitious and a little too bold, both possessed of a wanderlust that had sent them roaming a time or two only to return to familiar Savannah when luck began to turn against them.

As with any other marriage- and Len defied the Designated pairs to say it wasn't exactly the same for them- there had been a few snags along the way.

Jocelyn had wanted children for one, and Leonard hadn't wanted the commitment that would entail; she didn't care for his protectiveness so he did his level best to to stifle his natural concern whenever possible, and when he couldn't, he had at least made a damned good show of staying collected.

Leonard had wished she could be a little more possessive; Jocelyn's unthinking indifference and complete lack of possessiveness had cut him deeper than he had ever admitted, but there was something to be said for coming home and not having to worry about facing an interrogation every time he was a few hours late. For Jocelyn, it had only been a gesture of her trust in him; he understood now that distance had taken the sting from it.

Contrary to widely held expectations, they had both been faithful, and exactly as they had expected, neither one had found their supposedly ideal 'mate.'

Until the afternoon several years ago when Jocelyn had come home weeping, her cheeks red and eyes puffy with tears. Leonard had known precisely what that meant; there were very few things that could reduce Jocelyn to tears.

She offered to stay once she managed to catch her breath; Len could see that it was a sincere offer, and that it was killing her to make it.

He had filed for an annulment the following morning, and thankfully it had been granted quickly. These situations were not unheard of and were seldom resolved amicably. It was worth the extra trouble; Jocelyn was happy… and Leonard was entirely at loose ends.

Frustrated with the pitying gazes of colleagues and family alike he had finally booked it to the nearest recruiting center for Starfleet. The rest was history, as they said.

"Leonard?" Jocelyn's voice was softer this time; he pulled himself back to the present, scowling at her in warning.

"I'm sorry for lecturing."

Her apologetic smile was enough to soothe his frayed temper, and he offered a reassuring nod. All was forgiven if not forgotten; he signed off soon after, uncertain of what he could offer when the only topic Jocelyn could speak of at length was Clay and his many virtues.

Len couldn't recall anyone ever saying his name in quite that way. For a moment, and only a moment, he permitted himself to regret it.

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><p>!<p>

Lest I forget: "The Body and the Soul know how to play, in that dark world where gods have lost their way." From "The Partner" by Theodore Roethke.

Considering I have seven chapters written, this one will be updating weekly for at least a couple months. :)


	2. Revelation

It was far too early in the morning for any sane man to be awake, which is why Bones just burrowed deeper into his sheets when he heard the door chime; it was probably just a remnant of a dream anyway.

Except the damn thing wouldn't stop chiming until he stumbled out of bed, concern making him sharper than usual. Good news never came at four in the morning.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming!" He didn't bother shrugging into a robe- that would cost precious seconds that he might not have- only punched in the code to unlock the door and came face to face with Certified Menace Jim Kirk.

The unrepentant grin and jaunty salute were fairly good indicators that he was in good health, if a little tipsy, but Leonard managed to rein in his temper. Just.

"Jim, any particular reason you're draggin' me out of bed at this unholy hour of the morning?"

"You seriously missed out, Bones. We had a great time-"

"If you woke me up to regale me with tales of your latest conquest, I might actually murder you, Jim"

Despite the growled words he stepped away from the door and gestured Jim inside. The kid could be a little overenthusiastic at times, but it wasn't like him to be inconsiderate; Leonard was confident he'd have the real meaning for this visit out of him in no time at all. _In Vino Veritas_, as the saying went.

Len was sure Jim wouldn't appreciate a reminder of it, so he ushered him carefully over to the small table in the kitchen that doubled as his dining room and poured a glass of water. Drunk Kirk seldom took care of sober Kirk, and he tended to forget he wasn't a cadet any more; shaking off hangovers was no longer a talent he possessed.

It only took Len a little longer to shrug into a robe that had seen better years and make his way back to the table.

Jim accepted the glass, wrapping it in both hands to still his slight trembling; he downed it in one go while Bones looked on with reluctant amusement. He even managed a gruff laugh when Jim pulled a face that could only have been disgust.

"This is either the worst vodka I've ever had or you're trying to mother me."

"I'm trying to make sure you have something in your system other than alcohol."

"'M not actually drunk, not even tipsy. Just a little…"

"Tipsy." Len supplied, fully awake if a little annoyed at the necessity. Years of early shifts had paid off, he could cast off sleep just as he did his warm blankets. "Don't try faking your way out of it."

Silence stretched between them but after years of managing these moods, Leonard knew the importance of the waiting game. Jim was a stubborn bastard, it was rare he ever hinted at a need for help; meaning that when he did, it was because he had reached a critical state.

"I met a woman at the bar tonight."

Bones had the uncomfortable feeling he knew precisely where this conversation was going, and he thought he might actually have preferred it to be the bed of some hot young thing Kirk had seduced. It looked like this was going to end exactly where he and Jocelyn had last left off. Damnation. He couldn't escape the pressure even here in the security of his own home.

Leonard was half tempted to make a sarcastic remark about the ratio of women to men in bars and Jim's talent for spotting them; Jim would laugh, smother whatever it was he meant to say and leave the way he had come.

Only Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy had been good friends since they stepped off the academy shuttle five years ago, and Len wasn't in the business of abandoning friends. Against all better judgment, he bit his tongue and waited patiently for Jim to continue.

"We'd just decided on her place when I backed out. I couldn't, Bones. I mean, she was great: funny, smart, fucking knockdown gorgeous, and I just couldn't." He put his head down, sighing deeply. "It wasn't her, Bones, and that's all I can think of lately. None of them are her."

"That's never been a problem before."

Len couldn't keep the frustrated puzzlement from his tone. No one would ever peg Jim Kirk as a hopeless romantic with all his catting around, but that's precisely what he was. Worse, he had a way of infecting even the most rational men with it over periods of prolonged exposure. Having roomed with Jim Kirk during their academy days, Leonard wasn't surprised to find he was a little affected by Jim's plight.

And it pissed him off.

"Too sober, I guess." Jim shrugged, trying for a wry smile that wouldn't quite form.

"That's not a bad thing, Jim."

"Bullshit. I'm so-"

"Hold right there. Is this going to be one of those things you regret saying in the morning and we just pretend it never happened?"

"Probably."

"I'll get the bourbon."

"It's four in the morning." A half-hearted protest at best, and Bones could see the beginning of a true smile tugging at his lips when he said it.

"We'll only have a glass." Len raised a brow at the tall glass Jim still clutched to his chest.

"I really fucking love you, Bones. Are you sure I'm not your Designated?"

"Wouldn't complain, but I like to think I would notice if my name magically changed to Carol Marcus."

Jim barely kept himself from lunging across the table to smother Bones' words behind a desperate hand. There were few Unbonded willing to discuss the particulars of their Designated, even with their closest friends; Bones counted it an honor that Jim had confided that detail in him years ago during another such melancholic mood. It was the highest mark of trust anyone could offer, and even if Leonard thought a system predicated on binary individuality was senseless, he was conscious of the weight of Jim's offering.

Normally a Designation was only apparent to its bearer before a bonding was complete. Others would see only unintelligible runes etched into that place a name would one day occupy if they were fortunate enough to be accepted by their Designated- there was no harm in letting the world see then precisely whom one had claimed and in turn been claimed by.

For his part, Leonard had only ever seen a series of senseless markings that didn't bear a resemblance to any sort of language he'd ever seen before, let alone a name.

It had been a subject of some concern for his parents when they had first found him scrubbing his wrist raw, trying to make the mark tell him something or disappear entirely if it was going to be nothing more than a blemish on his skin, a lifelong reminder that he would always be found wanting.

The habit had persisted for nearly a year before they dragged him to a specialist while Leonard argued and pleaded every step of the way, all to no avail. No amount of testing or pointless counseling sessions had revealed the reason for his blindness; he might as well have been a Null, and frankly would have been happier had that been the case.

First had come the uncomprehending stares, then the disappointed glances, then the suggestion that perhaps he was just being stubborn, and was he sure he couldn't read a name there? Really, it was fine if he didn't want to say what it was, but this persistent dishonesty-

The litany was never-ending, and it had taken him all of a month to decide he was better off without the consuming obsession shared by so many other Humans- no planet had so many Designations as Earth. Maybe it was something in the air.

Len returned to the table, glass filled to the brim with his best bourbon; Jim would drink just about anything, but Leonard was a man of few vices and what few he practiced, he practiced well.

"Now I'm ready. And you are too."

Jim inhaled the drink, coughing fitfully. "I don't know. It's just a mood and I'll get over it, but it's been getting worse these past few months."

Bones sipped his bourbon and held his tongue; Jim would come out with the whole story when he was good and ready, not a moment before. He wasn't about to play the bully and force it from him.

"I mean, I'm captain of the _Enterprise_, the fleet's flagship, Bones. Pike says there's every chance Starfleet is going to send us on an exploratory assignment someday; we're going to see worlds Humans have never set foot on before. Everything is coming together, my life has never been this good, and I'm just so damn_ happy_."

Jim leaned back, fixing his gaze on some target visible only to him. "Then I look over and there's Spock hovering over Uhura, driving her crazy while she's trying to work. Christine won't stop cooing at Janice even when she's on duty, and I'm jealous."

He knocked back the glass in one fell swoop, running an ungentle hand through his hair. "I'm jealous, Bones. And it's not like I'm not going to say I'd give up my captain's chair for whatever it is they have- that would be crazy, right?"

"Crazy." Leonard agreed, gesturing wordlessly to the bottle. Jim declined his offer with a brisk shake of his head.

"But I have everything else, and it still doesn't feel like enough. I'm so damn greedy." Jim rested his head on the table, worrying at his bottom lip in a way Len hadn't seen since their early days,

"I think your drinks're kicking in a little late, Jim."

"You and me are always alone."

Bones snorted humorlessly, "With a thousand crewmembers aboard at any given time? We could be so lucky."

"Don't fucking joke." Len bridled at the sharpness of his tone, but subsided at seeing the remorseful glance Jim shot him.

"I'm sorry, Bones, I know you say this isn't a big deal for you, but I'm just so tired of everyone else finding their Designated while I just sort of stand off at the sidelines. Chapel wasn't even looking for hers and she found her first, same with Uhura."

"Happy coincidences. You know I don't buy into that whole 'fate' thing, Jim, but if there is any justice in the universe you'll find her. For your sake, I hope the day comes soon."

When Jim glanced up at him, Leonard could just see redness beginning around his eyes; time to get him to bed before he did something he'd regret in the morning.

"Why don't you take my bed? I'd normally be waking up in another couple hours or so; I'll just get a head start on tomorrow's roster while you sleep this off."

Jim allowed himself to be led meekly from table to bed, another sign of his fey mood. "Meek" was not a word anyone would associate with Jim Kirk.

"I just don't know how you do it, Bones. How can you not care?"

"Told you, I don't believe in fate. We make our own way, Jim. You're so fond a' tellin' me that rules are only guidelines, well it's the same for Designations. It's impossible to guess the measure of a person before they even know it themselves. I'd have to believe in predestination if I wanted to credit these marks, and I don't. Believe or want to."

Jim spoke through teeth gritted with determination, "I do."

Bones pretended not to hear the challenge in his voice; he didn't care to be pulled into a debate so early in the morning. It was hardly fair anyway with Jim past tipsy and well on his way toward drunk.

Leonard strode away, busying himself cleaning up their mess until he heard Jim's quiet snores; it was a particular gift of his that he could always fall asleep within two minutes or less, a trait Len had often envied when he found himself battling insomnia.

He didn't begrudge Jim his escape, he would just as soon be alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he had the uncanny feeling Jim could see through him to whatever it was that made him tick. He got those looks sometimes that said he knew Bones was lying, and if he didn't come clean Jim was going to help him out with it.

Not that Jim was the most scrupulously honest man out there, but sometimes he rivaled his green-blooded first officer for self-righteousness.

Most of the time Leonard had nothing worth hiding; honesty meant he would never have to scramble for a cover story when the cards turned against him, and he'd never been gifted at keeping his thoughts to himself anyway. His outspokenness had landed him in hot water on more than one occasion; Leonard suffered no illusions that it was a charming personality that had kept him from being court-martialed for insubordination in any of a dozen incidents.

Sometimes though, he thought Jim might know the one secret he thought was worth keeping.

When he was younger, before his Designation had made him a curiosity, Leonard had been as much of a romantic as Jim. He wasn't ashamed of that, all children went through the regrettable phase, and how could they not when they were constantly assailed with stories that told them finding their Designated was the most rewarding task they would ever accomplish?

He'd done the same as any other young boy and lain awake at night trying to imagine how they would meet, what it would feel like to see this missing piece of himself at last. Would they know each other on sight? Would they just know without being told that they were meant for each other or would the sight of their Designations be the first clue?

His parents had borne his eager questions with good grace and exchanged more than a few fond glances tempered with gently teasing words. Leonard wanted exactly that closeness with his partner.

But would it be a boy or a girl? Where would they come from? When would they meet? Had there ever been a case of a Designated pair that never found each other? The questions were endless for a time. As he grew older, some of those pleasant daydreams had taken a more salacious turn and Leonard had found himself less inclined to share his questions; he had just about died of embarrassment when his father slipped those health and safety pamphlets into his room.

And then he had finally reached the upper limit of the age when he should have been able to read the runes on his wrist, only they never resolved into anything more. Nothing, not wishing or prayer nor any methods he could devise had made those marks into anything more than senseless gibberish.

Rather than fall to pieces like his mother nearly had at discovering the anomaly, Len buried himself in work and was both surprised and relieved to find it was enough. He felt satisfied, and if there was sometimes a little twinge whenever he saw the way his parents depended so completely on each other then he comforted himself with the knowledge that he would never have to face the pain of losing a bond like that to the inevitable passage of time.

None of this was really a secret, even if he would rather it wasn't widely known; Leonard was proud that he had managed to buck his conditioning.

His shame was that he hadn't been entirely successful.

Jim had teased him when he boarded that shuttle in Riverside about his aviophobia and what awaited him when he graduated from the academy; thankfully Bones hadn't been drunk enough to confess that some small part of him thought maybe his Designated was waiting for him out there in the stars, gazing up at a foreign sky as though it held all the answers the universe had to offer and maybe another gift yet denied.

The wonder of it was, he'd been drunk enough to enlist in Starfleet based on that whim, and just sober enough to convince the recruiting officer that he was capable of making an informed decision, dammit.

He had almost regretted it come morning, even briefly debated the idea of heading to Boyce's office and requesting a discharge, but he'd never been a man to take back his word once it was given.

Now that Leonard had finally dragged himself out of the academy and into the black, he knew Starfleet was exactly where he was needed; more than that, it was where he wanted to be, inconvenient phobia notwithstanding.

But he'd never confess to the origin of the impulse that had made him sign his name to the dotted line; he would take that secret to his grave.

Leonard headed to the back room, a study now that he finally had quarters of his own. The lights flickered on at his whispered command though he still reflexively raised a hand to flick light switches that hadn't been standard issue in residences since his great grandparents had built their little home.

From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something impossible.

One minute. Two. He shut his eyes and drew a breath, counting down from ten in a useless calming exercise Uhura swore by. This couldn't be right, his eyes were blurry and unfocused and the sudden change from darkness to light had wreaked havoc on his night vision.

When at last he opened his eyes and carefully slid the cuff of his sleeve back it was still there, emblazoned across his wrist where once there had been nothing but indecipherable symbols:

_Khan Noonien Singh._

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In the weeks following his awakening, Khan diligently studied every facet of the era, from technology to social treatises down to the smallest minutiae of fashion. No detail was too small, no gesture insignificant if he wanted to blend seamlessly with the masses. He took particular care to unearth every bit of data he could on the phenomenon of Designations.

No great progress had been made, most likely due to superstition or a mistaken belief that there were no great discoveries left in the field. However, it had taken him no great space of time to run across the name of "Leonard Horatio McCoy"; the man was listed as an exception to nearly every possible classification. He was not a Null, yet multiple reports claimed he was as yet unable to read the Designation that flowed across his left wrist.

An instance of a Natural being unable to decipher their gift had long been a subject of interest to novelists; some historians claimed similar cases had existed centuries previously, most had discounted such tales as an example of an Unbonded mate determined to protect their Designated from consequences the modern researcher could not begin to guess.

"Class" had never been a concern, neither "race" nor conflicting ideologies; a Designation was absolute and as far back as even the most dedicated scholar could trace, a Designation had always taken precedent over such artificial concerns. There were scattered accounts of a bloodbath when a well-respected 'leader of men' had dared to eliminate his Designated to ensure his power could not be threatened by a weaker partner. No sooner had his pitiable mate been removed than rebellion destroyed every facet of the nation the fool had attempted to build on the bones of his Designated.

Nothing of him remained save cautionary tales; his very name had been filed from monuments and ink scraped from the pages of any manuscripts that even listed the province and family he hailed from.

There was nothing then that should prevent someone from acknowledging their mate, and no indication of previous cases similar to McCoy's in the contemporary age.

Of course, researchers were not privy to every facet of McCoy's situation; his Designated had been living, hence the appearance of his mark, but perhaps the stasis had empathetically interfered with his natural development?

Khan's own Designation had not even appeared until centuries after his creation; a conundrum that suggested a reason for why some should be born Nulls, but that was hardly his concern. His current difficulty was in determining whether Leonard McCoy could decipher his mark now that his mate walked the earth, and whether he was a man that would hasten to report it.

A quick review of his psychological profile, unintentionally provided by Starfleet's database, had suggested not.

"How are you settling in, John?"

The new name grated on his ears, short and unremarkable in comparison to his own. Common. Still, it would be easier to accept the yoke of Marcus' command without the burden of pride his given name would have added. It was safer for now to become John Harrison and see to the future when he had dealt with the nuisance of the present.

Glancing up at Alexander Marcus, John could see the malicious satisfaction in the tilt of his chin, the self-assurance in the very set of his shoulders. This was the stance of a man who stood over his fallen enemy; it was singularly unsuited to him. Khan allowed himself to be called John Harrison, and the persona came to him with ease since he had crafted his background and arranged the records personally, but Marcus would be mistaken in thinking the man that stood before him was any less ruthless for a temporary change of name.

In fact, had Marcus been aware of how very helpful his resources had been proving these past months he might have rethought his strategy. Khan Noonien Singh might have taken the opportunity to humble Marcus on the spot, John Harrison only stepped away from his desk and looked on in silence as Marcus rifled through the schematics strewn about there.

It was strange to feel the chafe of paper beneath his fingertips, but Section 31 was nothing if not cautious with any materials pertaining to the true nature of their work. PADDs could be compromised, computers hacked, but paper and the minds of Starfleet's best could hold unlimited data in relative safety.

"Not much progress on the defensive grid, but this design." Marcus lifted the sheet detailing a new class of torpedo whose true use he certainly wouldn't guess. "This is why I wanted you under my command."

He lifted his gaze to John, taking in the crisp, black uniform of Section 31 and the Starfleet insignia pinned to his chest in blatant mockery of their petty ideals. Those hollow principles of peace and unity rang with conviction when spoken from lecterns and trumpeted from holovids. In practice it was Section 31 that protected this way of life by flouting the very code of law they pretended to uphold.

The irony of it never failed to bring a smile to John's face, and that invariably provoked a bitter diatribe from Marcus and his ilk on 'choosing the lesser evil' or whatever propagandist rot they used to justify their latest crimes. It would not have bothered John so very much except that they truly seemed to believe the deceit; Marcus had been weaving webs for so long he had managed to trap himself in one of his own making, and for that reason he was treated to withering contempt from the captive whom he now purported to control.

"Speaking of my command." Marcus laid the papers aside, stepping around the desk to minimize the space between them, "I gave you orders to apply yourself to designing the next generation of defensive technology for use in any antagonistic maneuvers undertaken against the Federation, yet the reports I receive tell me you've dedicated an inordinate amount of time to investigating one Leonard McCoy."

John barely stifled the dismayed hiss that rose in his throat, suppressing his rage with effort; he damned himself thrice over for his carelessness. So often Marcus played the part of the posturing soldier that it was easy to forget he must be a man of some degree of cunning, head of an integral part of Starfleet intelligence as he was. The knowledge was there in his eyes, in the way his gaze shifted pointedly to John's concealed wrist. He knew John Harrison's second most precious secret, and that changed everything, added variables John had not considered until now.

No matter, in the grand scheme this was only a minor snare; Marcus would not dare to move against Khan's Designated for fear of the consequences he might bring down atop his head.

Both John Harrison and Khan Noonien Singh were in agreement on that score. If they had miscalculated to such an extent that their mate was forced to pay the price for their hubris, blood would flow in rivers before their vengeance was accounted complete.

"Don't be coy." John edged the barest centimeter closer, watching keenly as Marcus shifted his weight back to regain the distance between them.

"No." Marcus' smile broadened, his face crinkling with the effort. "I only wanted to remind you of your loyalties."

"I am not likely to forget." John conceded, the success of his charade depended upon Marcus' belief in his complicity, but he could not resist adding a veiled warning. "I am sure your reports also detail my research into Carol Marcus. Is she a relation of yours?"

The color drained from Marcus' features, his fingers twitching reflexively, doubtless with the urge to wrap them around John Harrison's throat.

"I have been most cooperative, admiral, surely you do not begrudge me the use of tools only slightly outside my discipline? Your cause has benefited greatly from my aid these past months; it is only right that I should do the same."

It was time to bring the conversation back to neutral ground; his threat had been made and Marcus would be on the alert, but John's request was a small one and if Marcus believed he had yet more collateral against him it could only strengthen his position.

For a moment it looked as though Marcus was going to argue but after a tense moment he nodded, devoid of any expression. That was hardly a promising sign, but Marcus' suspicions would not alter a plan that had been set in motion almost from the day John had been handed this assignment.

Marcus left the room with haste, likely intending to comm his daughter and reassure himself she was precisely where he meant her to be. It was a very Human reaction, and predictable, but he would find her in the research wing of Starfleet's science academy in London. He would spend a few hours wondering when Khan had taken the opportunity to meet her and whether the threat against her was genuine or imagined.

And while Marcus busied himself seeing to his family, John would see to securing the future of his own. Once that was complete, he would have to see about taking the final step of meeting his own mate and verifying that Leonard McCoy was everything his record suggested he could be. If he was already compromised then the benefits to the encounter would far outweigh the risk. Khan could open that first line of communication between them, the ephemeral link that would permit him a more personal insight.

Most importantly, he could begin to weave his plans around McCoy and make certain his Designated would not be caught in the crossfire of the battle to come. Khan would willingly assume the burden of his safety until such time as he knew the extent of McCoy's abilities… and loyalties.

John turned back to his work, ignoring the primal satisfaction it gave him to think of securing his mate safe from harm. It was not unexpected; Naturals were hardwired to consider the well-being of their Designated, and if admiral Marcus assumed it would be any different for an Augment then he would learn the error of his ways in the most agonizing fashion imaginable.

After so many years of war, Khan could imagine quite a lot, and John Harrison had access to the tools that would enable him to make his thoughts a reality.

Occupied with these bloodthirsty thoughts, the hours flew by as he made the final adjustments to the schematics and models he'd been crafting. After two centuries of waiting, another day would mean nothing at all.


	3. Close Encounters

_Finished._ John Harrison was hard pressed to keep the satisfaction from his face; he hardly dared to speak more than a smattering of words for fear his colleagues would hear it in his tone, sense it in his bearing. Starfleet personnel were a cut above the average, he could concede that after nearly a year in the company of assorted engineers and scientists, brilliant minds whose potential had been stunted by the directives their superiors ruthlessly enforced and yet flouted at their own convenience.

None had remarked any change in his bearing today. To them, John Harrison had always seemed aloof and withdrawn, always imposing distance between himself and his comrades.

Staff parted around him like a swarm of gnats as Harrison strode toward the hangar that held the first model he had designed.

Word had come down this morning that the missiles he had taken such care to perfect were at last slated to be built and tested. Marcus wouldn't invest Starfleet resources in weapons that did not deliver on their potential; he had ordered a round of testing for the handful he had authorized.

Minor tweaking would be needed, small upgrades and little additions he could have easily overlooked, but in the end they would work spectacularly, John had made certain it would be so. _Then _Marcus would authorize dozens more, at least six dozen if all went according to plan. That was all he would need, and let Marcus do with the rest what he would.

It had amused John to no end learning that admiral Marcus had denied his own daughter's request to examine the weapons' blueprints. He had cited a need to avoid the appearance of favoritism, but John knew it was _his_ presence at the testing grounds that ensured Carol Marcus would never be permitted near. It hardly mattered, she had no place in Harrison's scheme anyway, but Marcus' transparent attempts to shield her would only make her that much more determined to outwit him.

For a man that prided himself on heading an organization whose sole function was to gather intelligence, he could be remarkably lacking in foresight.

But then, Marcus had at least been wise enough not to take him at his word when he had professed resignation to his fate. In the few months since John had submitted his plans for approval, Marcus had seen to it he was not permitted to leave the research compound.

That would all change when his missile proved to be exactly what he had promised and more. Admiral Marcus would cede to pressure to allow Harrison more latitude in his living arrangements, though John had no doubt it would be reported if he so much as sneezed in public.

Nevertheless, this small victory was deserving of celebration. After months of patiently laying the groundwork for his trap, cooperating with his captors even unto the point of surrendering his extraneous research into Designations, John had decided he was deserving of a minor aberration or two.

Precisely two. The first being his appropriation of the chemical Section 31 field agents used to obscure their Designations, and the second a brief jaunt to finally meet the object of his dedicated study.

According to Starfleet's database, Leonard McCoy was even now awaiting orders, stranded planetside while the _Enterprise_ was docked for maintenance. He would be grateful for the respite but after nearly two months without the hum of engines beneath his feet, John was certain even a confirmed aviophobe would be chafing at the delay.

This was John's gift for all the precious time lost to a game of check and counter-check with Marcus, this was his reward for putting aside the question of his own well-being in favor of his crew.

Under more auspicious circumstances John would have delayed this first rendezvous indefinitely, but Marcus knew more of his mate than he, and that state of affairs could not be permitted to last even a moment longer than necessary. By simple virtue of who he belonged to, Leonard McCoy was already at risk; compounding that was Admiral Marcus' rank in comparison with McCoy's and the power Marcus had amassed among his paranoid, military-minded peers. It was certain that when John Harrison made his opening move, McCoy would already be a target for immediate reprisal.

It would place him in no greater danger if John were to find him before the storm; in fact, this could only be to their mutual benefit, opening that first tentative line between them, an empathetic link that would allow insight into one another. So he hoped.

In any case, that link would at least force McCoy to acknowledge the existence of his mate. When his mark finally resolved itself for all the world to see he would have no choice but to admit his Designation.

It had not escaped John's notice that McCoy had not yet reported his changed status to Starfleet.

If his theory held true, and it was the only possible explanation, then McCoy should have been able to decipher his marking from the moment Khan had awoken. Yet he continued on as though nothing had changed; he hadn't been expecting the stab of betrayal when he found McCoy had still gone to such lengths to conceal his Designation even from those he was legally required to notify.

It hardly mattered, soon he would be meeting McCoy in the flesh, and any hope of denying their connection would be lost. A daunting prospect, but the yield would far outweigh the risk if bonding was even half the experience it was rumored to be.

The guards on either side of the gate leading to the primary hangar came to attention when he stepped into view, snapping off crisp salutes, hardly flinching when he breezed past. As Marcus grew more complacent around his captive so too did his subordinates, and they had no cause to fear John Harrison; only a select few among the security and medical divisions were aware he was anything more than a commander specializing in the sciences.

That would all change soon enough if he played his role convincingly. Bearing that thought in mind, John fixed a smile to his face as he approached the select group gathered around his masterpiece and salvation. Mere weeks until he could set the final stage in motion, and by then it would be too late for Marcus to do more than stand back and marvel at the monster he had created.

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One of the advantages of working dirtside, Leonard decided as he clocked off shift one brisk winter's evening, was that very few of his tasks were time sensitive.

Aboard a starship there was always something that had to be done: reports to catch up on, equipment to be tested and updated, cocky ensigns that inevitably found new and interesting ways to injure themselves every shift. In the rare months like these when the _Enterprise_ was docked and her crew confined to earth, he could bury himself in research notes from conferences he hadn't been able to attend and no one would think it strange.

Normally, Leonard loathed it. He lived for the bustle of the infirmary and the challenges it presented. Damned if he didn't enjoy filing reports on any incidents that arrived, trying to find the creative language that could turn a broken finger into something like a ship-wide crisis- or vice versa as was more often the case. Just something to entertain the record-keepers and himself in his off hours. Tonight though, he was grateful that he could simply shove his PADDs aside, lock down the corrosives he'd been dabbling with for lack of anything better and leave at his own discretion.

Jocelyn had tried to comm him three times in the past hour, and Len was wise enough to know that probably meant trouble. He wasted no time informing Chapel he was taking the remainder of the night off before hurrying back to the relative privacy of his apartment, praying that Jim wouldn't be there with drinks in hand and stories to tell of whatever it was he got up to on shore leave.

It was the work of a moment to toss his coat and shoes aside and settle in to return Jocelyn's calls; twice more she had tried to reach him while he was aboard the transport, but he hadn't wanted to air private business where any curious ear might overhear.

It didn't take long for her to answer, and Leonard breathed a sigh of relief that whatever had happened, she was still well enough to give him a mild telling off. "Five times, Leonard, _five_. Did you leave your comm again? It'll never do you any good if you don't keep it with you."

"What's the emergency? Leave the lights on again?" He'd meant it to be light, but the next moment he noticed her watery eyes and damned himself for three different kinds of idiocy. "'M sorry, Jocelyn, I couldn't-"

"I'm pregnant." She whispered, and for a moment her face brightened, but the frown was back in place all too soon.

"Congratulations." Len was happy for her, truly. Jocelyn had always said she wanted a kid or two, but he was struck by an unexpected bolt of self-pity; there was no reason for Jocelyn to share the news with him- but now that she had, he still wasn't certain how she expected him to react.

Jocelyn sniffed, surreptitiously swiping her eyes with a fingertip, "That's it?" She gave a watery chuckle, "Clay doesn't even know yet, you're the first, and that's it?" There was no heat in the words, but he could hear an undercurrent of disappointment.

Honesty was always the best policy, leave the flattery to Jim. "I don't know what else to say except I hope it gets its mother's good looks." That earned him a huff of laughter and a mock-reproving glance.

It was worth the risk to ask the question weighing on his mind, "Are you all right? Why the tears?"

"I don't know. I'm tired. It was a long day, and then this- I don't know."

Len flashed her a genuine grin, tipping a wink, "Gettin' an early start on the mood swings, I guess."

Jocelyn shrugged, "Might as well." Some of the worry lines smoothed, but she still seemed tense, a little… awkward.

"I don't mean to rush you, but was there something else?" Hesitancy was unlike her; Jocelyn had always walked the fine line between bold and foolhardy, to see her unsteady now was disconcerting to say the least.

"Clay and I were talking-" There was no way that statement could end well.

"Don't give me that look, Leonard Horatio McCoy, you can wait until I'm finished before you start leaping to conclusions."

Leonard managed a sheepish nod, "Go on."

"We were thinking when the first baby came along we'd have some changes to make in our wills-"

"I can't commit to taking a kid, and it doesn't matter because both of you are young and healthy. Nothing's gonna-"

"I thought you were going to wait until I was finished?" He might've deserved that narrow-eyed look. Jocelyn always said if he didn't learn to let a body finish their train of thought she was going to invest in a gag.

"Beg pardon, go on." Spitefully, Jocelyn waited a few seconds more before resuming the thread of their conversation.

"Would you mind if we asked your aunt Grace to stand in for us in the event of-" Jocelyn waved her hand dismissively, unwilling to finish the sentence. Damn, it looked like she was about to cry again, and Leonard never had been able to stand the sight of a woman crying; especially Jocelyn, who had perfected the art of the stoic weeping punctuated by smothered sobs.

"If we did, then you could visit and-"

"Course. Why bother asking me when you should be askin' _her_? Though I'm expecting an invite as soon as you're ready for guests."

As easy as that her tears were gone, the remaining tension fled, "I'm glad. I wasn't certain you would want to visit us at all."

"Why the hell not?"

Jocelyn tilted her head, excitement making her fingers tremble slightly as she reached out to disconnect the comm. "I have to go, Clay's home. Talk next week?"

She was gone before Leonard could answer, but that was just as well, his smile could only last so long before his cheeks started to ache with the effort of forcing it.

He was thrilled that Jocelyn was finally having that child she'd so dearly wanted. Leonard had no doubt the kid would be smothered with affection and probably a little bit spoiled by the time Jocelyn and Clay had their way. He was honored that she'd informed him first, and pleased that she'd thought to include his family.

But it did bring him a brief pang of… not regret, but wistfulness.

Leonard was reminded of that time months ago when Jim had stumbled into his home heartbroken, beaten down and just tipsy enough to talk about it. Len had been able to say, with all truthfulness at the time, that he wasn't lonely, only alone.

Now he thought he understood a little better the burden Jim contended with. He wasn't much in the mood for being on his own tonight either. If he were still in the academy, this was one of the nights where he might have been tempted to go looking for better company, just someone to while away the dark hours with, forgetting to think until morning light.

It was the work of a moment to comm Jim and inquire whether he had any set plans for the night. Nothing more than the usual, Jim assured him, and that grin really should have been a dead give away, but Leonard was too distracted to know it for the promise it was. By the time he realized what Jim intended, it was too late to back out.

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Leonard had always been a man of conviction by necessity. "The squeaky hinge gets the oil" was more than just a trite idiom to be dragged out over family dinners, it was a way of life in the McCoy family. The meek didn't inherit much of anything and God help the poor fool that committed the unpardonable sin of backing down from an argument they had committed to.

He wasn't sure which malfunctioning neural pathway was responsible for making him think it would be any different with Jim Kirk, but somehow after hours of insisting that _no_ he wasn't ready for a night on the town, and _yes_ he was fine spending a night in, he still found himself crammed in another club Jim had raved about at length.

Len was beginning to wonder just how many of these dives Jim had been waiting to spring on him at the first opportunity.

He nursed his whiskey sullenly, trying in vain to drown out the godawful music blaring too loudly over the speakers. Wasn't anyone just a little concerned about blowing the damn things out? He could practically feel the bass reverberating in his bones and it couldn't be doing any more good for the sound system than it was his aching head.

The only thing that soothed him even a little was that Spock was stuck in this dark pit the same as he. Worse, Uhura had dragged him out into the crowd with her ten minutes past. Not being any kind of saint, Leonard had flashed a grin at the sight of his obvious discomfort. Spock only glowered back, but that was more of a reaction than could have been expected even a year ago; that was probably Uhura's influence showing.

Alone now with nothing but drink in hand and the company of his own thoughts, Len cast back to look for the miscalculation that had led him to spending his night in this overrated, and overpriced, corner.

He could blame it on Jocelyn, for comming when she did. Or maybe Jim, for prying the truth from him less than twenty minutes after he had barged into Len's quarters; Spock, for agreeing to a 'night on the town' with Uhura…ultimately he knew the blame lay squarely on _his_ shoulders, and now he would have to live with it.

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and Leonard just about jumped out of his skin before he realized it was only Jim behind him, hiding his concern behind a knowing smirk. "Ready for another drink? Next one's on me; I mean, if you're going to be some kind of honorary uncle then I am too, right? This calls for a celebration."

Pity he only caught about half of what Jim was saying; his eardrums were shot and his patience was wearing thinner by the second. Len gestured to his ears and Jim nodded his understanding, sitting down next to him and motioning to the bartender for another shot.

"You. Me. Drinks. I pay. Good?"

"Always." It was rather hard to stay grouchy when he wasn't picking up the tab. "Last drink though, Jim. I'm done for the night."

"I can't hear you, Bones! It's too loud!"

Bullshit. Jim's hearing was flawless until he heard something he didn't like. It was good that he was finally admitting to his selective hearing loss though. Not for the first time, Bones considered submitting an official request that all cadets be trained in a universal method of non-verbal communication. How the hell hadn't someone got on that already? As it was, he settled for gesturing sharply to the glass and making a cutting motion, exaggerating the movement of his lips.

"Last. One. I'm done, Jim."

"C'mon. It hasn't even been two hours-"

"A bar, you said. This is a fucking _club_. I hate clubs. I'm too damn old for this shit."

"If you want to dance that badly, then come downstairs. If your creaking thirty-something joints can handle it."

"Go choke on a pretzel, Jim."

"You've wounded me-"

"Pour a beer on your gaping wound and let's go home."

Jim relented, muffling his sigh in whatever the hell that pink, fruity drink was; his sweet tooth must be plaguing him again.

"All right, one hour. Just give me an hour more."

"No one said you had to come with me."

"'M not leaving you, Bones. Unless you change your mind and decide to take some lucky bastard home." Jim waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Then my lips are sealed, and I'll stay out of your hair."

"Not tonight, Jim."

"Good. Then one hour and we're gone." That pleading look on Jim's face had marked the beginning of a dozen adventures Len swore up and down he could do without. Then again, those hare-brained plots made up at least half of his good memories from the academy. Against his better judgment, Leonard relented; this probably wouldn't end well, but their hangovers were already assured and what else could possibly go wrong between the two of them?

"Your time starts now."

Jim downed his drink in one desperate gulp and bolted back down to whatever circle of the Inferno he had first risen from. Leonard would never admit it, but their light banter had cheered him considerably. Now that Jim had put the idea in his head, he even unbent enough to leave the relative safety of the bar and slink over to the balcony that overlooked the seething mass of drunkards Jim felt so at home among.

Leonard wasn't exactly in a position to criticize; he was just the wrong side of sober himself. There was a twisting feeling in his gut that warned him his drinks hadn't quite caught up yet either. Liquor on an empty stomach was never a good idea, and Len had the uncomfortable feeling he was going to learn the truth of that firsthand tomorrow morning.

Might as well enjoy the night while he could.

For a split second he thought he might have spotted Uhura, wending her way through the crowd toward… ah yes, that was Jim, and he'd already managed to latch onto Spock, who was obviously intent on leaving but swayed from his convictions by a teasing smile from Uhura and Jim's whining. Jim would maintain it was his innate charisma that persuaded Spock to stay that extra hour, but Leonard could see the bewildered Vulcan had eyes only for his Designated.

He laughed aloud when the poor bastard accepted the drink she offered and fell into step behind her, shouldering aside anyone that looked like they might want to try their luck with the pretty officer.

Apparently even green-blooded computers were susceptible to jealousy, though he never would have credited it if the evidence weren't right there before his eyes. Still musing idly, Leonard scanned the throng, looking for any more stories unfolding downstairs. It seemed he was doomed to disappointment- nothing but cadets slumming with locals, hardly even an offworlder in sight.

Damn. He'd even managed to misplace Jim somewhere in the melee; with their comms held at the door and no alternative meeting place, it looked like he was just going to have to stay as long as Jim pleased or risk getting a lecture that could put their academy professors to shame.

He scanned the crowd again, looking for any sign of a familiar blond head. Perhaps… was that him there?

"Are you waiting on someone?"

_Holy Shit._ The seemingly innocuous question was whispered into his ear, sending tendrils of sensation curling through him. Clearly he'd had a little more to drink than he had realized. Leonard spun, keeping a shocked exclamation locked tight behind his lips.

To be fair, the sight that confronted him would probably have stolen the words from his mouth anyway.

The man had to be six and a half feet if he was an inch, tall as he was Leonard rarely encountered anyone that could top him, but something in the man's carriage made him seem larger still.

And the eyes. Steel gray set above a charming smile that wasn't fooling anyone. Leonard felt pinned beneath that assessing gaze; it was a new and not entirely unpleasant sensation.

Covering his shock, Leonard set his drink aside lest it betray the telling tremor of his hands. This was beyond unusual; in his academy days he had been routinely _wasted_ with Jim and still his clever hands and tongue had never failed him. Combine the drink with a sudden shot of adrenaline though and it looked like it wasn't such a bad idea, propping himself up here.

"Any particular reason you need to know?" Len fixed the interloper with his best scowl, the one he typically saved for Jim's worst shenanigans. This one didn't look even remotely intimidated; his smile widened a fraction and Leonard half expected him to rub his hands together like a caricature of a gleeful villain.

"I thought perhaps we might keep company. Far from the madding crowd, as it were." He nodded to the press that swarmed around them, all raucous laughter and high spirits.

Ah. A kindred spirit, eager to escape the insanity. That explained the poor bastard's visible satisfaction. Leonard took in the man's attire, form-fitting shirt with high collar; charcoal gray or perhaps black- hard to tell in this lighting, but unquestionably a good cut. Elegant and understated.

No. Neither one of them belonged here. Leonard gestured to the empty space beside him, secure enough now to take his glass back in hand and finish it off in a few quick gulps.

"Leonard McCoy. You are?"

There went that smile again, just a hint of challenge beneath. "John. John Harrison."

"Well, John Harrison, damned if you're here with the cadets so what sorta bet d'you lose?"

"Would you believe me if I said I had won?"

"Hell, I'd hate to see the forfeit then." Len chuckled, going to take another sip of his drink before realizing that the glass was entirely empty. He wasn't much in the mood for braving the crush around the bar again either. Better just to call it a night anyway with Jim presumably wrapping things up below stairs.

"Am I to take it that a bet lost is the reason for your own presence?" It took Leonard a moment to remember the question could only be addressed to him; he'd been a little lost in the husky timbre of that voice. What was the accent? The rhythm wasn't something he had ever associated with Federation Standard. Uhura was the linguist, she would probably know, and it hardly mattered anyway.

"Not a bet. Just caught a case of the stupid and let a friend drag me in. If he doesn't get his ass up here soon though, I'm not sure how much longer I'll be calling him friend."

He was too distracted to notice the way Harrison's body tensed with annoyance for a split second, charming smile faltering for a tenth of that before the expression returned.

Normally Leonard would have been content to let silence fall between them, allowing the conversation to lapse. Not so this time, whether he was simply craving conversation after an evening glued to a stool while Jim socialized below or whether it was simply another instance of his overly curious mind being caught by the mystery John Harrison presented, he found himself scrabbling for something to say that would give them an excuse to speak longer.

"You waitin' on anyone in particular?"

"You." The look John leveled at him made his meaning abundantly clear.

Leonard had never been the sort to invite a stranger to his bed, preferring to restrict his occasional aberrations to acquaintances, and never colleagues; that record nearly flew out the airlock when Harrison turned the full force of his gaze on him, watching every motion with a dedicated intensity that made Leonard's breath come short and fast. In the immortal words of Jim, who had a way with his quick mouth every now and again, that look was scary sexy, with an emphasis on the scary.

"Damn. I'll have to remember that line." Leonard's laughter didn't break the new tension between them at all, and fuck if that didn't make him a little weak in the knees. It had been _ages_ since he'd last felt an instantaneous fascination with someone… and look where that had ended for both of them. When he glanced up from contemplating the swirls in his glass, John had turned away again, hands splayed across the balustrade in a way that brought all manner of lewd images to Len's sodden mind.

Yes, he had taken enough to drink tonight. Though not so much that he couldn't make his own decisions in the here and now- and probably live to regret it come morning.

As though the universe had sensed his sudden need to be _gone_, the crowd parted slightly to reveal Jim, a lovely lady draped over his right arm and another over his left. Experience had taught Leonard what would happen next. Completely disregarding his wish to be left the hell alone, Jim would come sprinting up those stairs with his new friends in tow. He'd say they were going to share the transport, and they would, right back to Jim's quarters where Jim would do his damnedest to convince Len that taking a woman home was the cure for all his ills. When Leonard declined for perfectly acceptable reasons, Jim would call him a spoilsport and offer to make it up to the girls on his own.

They would eagerly accept.

Not tonight. Leonard couldn't bring himself to play the small-talk game tonight. Jim _had_ offered him the provision of slipping out if he found more interesting company… and he had, just not of the variety Jim was expecting.

Just then the kid glanced up and waved at him, gesturing subtly to his companions. Leonard shook his head no, but since when had Jim ever listened to him? Struck with wicked, alcohol-fueled inspiration, Leonard tossed his head to the enigma at his side, smirking back suggestively. It was a pleasure to see _Jim_ gaping in disbelief for once.

"It seems your friend has found more pleasing company." It sounded like Harrison might well be offended on his behalf. Not that Leonard particularly _needed_ anyone taking his side, but the offer was a nice afterthought.

"Only fair. So did I." At the moment that was about all the subtlety and charm he could muster.

Harrison's warm laughter was infectious, Leonard couldn't quite keep a slow-spreading grin from his face; coy flirtation was Jim's way. For himself, Len had always preferred a straightforward approach.

After a final searching look, Jim bent to murmur something in the ear of the woman on his right, smoothly altering their course for the exit. Bless him for his decision to refrain from interfering this once; if he'd even so much as shot him another questioning look, Leonard might well have caved to the voice of reason and kept from uttering the words that came to his lips next.

"Looks to me like he's gettin' out of here."

Harrison's- No, _John's_- head tilted marginally, questioning gaze shifting back to Leonard's face as he slowly unfolded to his full height. Holy hell, it had been ages since Leonard had met a man capable of meeting him eye to eye, matching searching stare for stare. Damned if that wasn't doing it for him.

"Will you go with him?" That mischievous quirk of the lips suggested John knew full well the answer to his question.

Mouth dry and pulse hammering out a rapid tattoo, Leonard answered nonetheless, letting just a shade of amusement steal over his face. "Think I'd rather go with you."


	4. The Match Struck

The first blast of fresh air was enough to restore at least a smidgeon of clear thinking. Trouble was, Leonard wasn't keen on heeding the voice of common sense, so when caution reasserted itself with pesky doubts about who this man was, where they were headed or what the hell he was in for, Len processed the questions and dismissed them as problems easily solved.

"We should take this back to my place." Wordless assent in the form of a brisk nod was his only answer and Len felt his skin prickling once more. There was something vaguely _off_ here; not in a threatening way or he'd be back at Jim's side in a split-second, but just… _off_.

He risked a glance at his companion, startled when he found John had fixed him with an equally considering look, paying no mind to the crowd but simply expecting that it would flow around him.

"Is something troubling you, Leonard?" Only just loud enough to reach his ears, and damned if he didn't like the way that mouth shaped his name.

"'M I going to have to worry about your Designated?" Leonard's own wrist began to burn sympathetically, he rubbed it thoughtlessly against his jeans to dull the sting. It was guilt that had set him off, just his own misplaced _guilt_, and what he had to be ashamed of Leonard couldn't even begin to guess. _Khan Noonien Singh_ hadn't made an appearance in all the months since the runes had first resolved themselves, and Leonard still wasn't sure whether he was relieved, concerned or disappointed. He had settled for an unlikely combination of all three.

John laughed aloud, a wild joy beneath it that had Len's lips stretching up into a smile.

"No. I think not." He swept his long sleeve back to show his bare wrist. Len hoped his relief wasn't too obvious, and especially not his pity. For all his convictions, Leonard couldn't help but feel for those poor bastards that fell outside the pale. Starfleet couldn't be seen to discriminate against them, but it was an open secret that Nulls often found themselves passed over for promotion when competing against their Designated peers.

"Solves the problem, doesn't it?" Leonard yanked at his own sleeve; without exposure to his own Designated, no one else could decipher it. Leonard had checked to be certain. Repeatedly.

He'd hardly unbuttoned his cuff before one of John's hands clamped about his wrist, the other catching at his shoulder to draw him into the sort of embrace Leonard was sure would land him in the second circle of hell.

He had never considered how damn _good_ it could be, not having to lean down to catch his partner's lips. John's fingers twined roughly in his shirt, pulling him off balance and into the other man's solid weight. Much better, now he could focus a little less on standing straight and a little more on that wickedly talented mouth and what it could do for him. He hummed contentedly, lips curving into a lazy smile the better to permit a clever tongue entrance. There was an almost soothing quality to the kiss, rather like the first breath after being submerged too long.

Leonard pulled away first, a little dazed, and more than a little turned on. That last drink probably had something to do with the pleasant lethargy spreading through his limbs and the nearly forgotten heat that was pooling in his gut. It didn't help any that John's tongue darted out to taste his lips as though savoring that last bit of tingling contact between them.

"How the hell d'you expect a man to make it home when you're pulling dirty tricks like that? C'mon, we're going to miss the last transport, and that would be a crying shame."

It sent a thrill up his spine, feeling John's hand settle possessively at the small of his back. He was crossing a lot of his self-imposed boundaries tonight; Len knew part of it was the simple pleasure of rebellion, willfully denying the mark that had never ceased to plague him in one way or another. Another part of it was lust, plain and simple. Leonard had done without often enough, watching while Jim dallied with whomever he pleased or Scotty when he could pull himself away from tinkering long enough. Either way, he intended to get John Harrison out of his system with no messy complications, just sex.

That thought in mind, he lengthened his strides, confident that John would match him step for step. This might not qualify as his wisest decision, but he could see no reason for regret come morning either, and if anyone was entitled to a little indiscretion, surely it was he.

!

!

Beneath his racing thoughts of precisely what he intended for Leonard McCoy tonight and the giddy rush of adrenaline that came of playing his role to perfection, John was surprised to find an undercurrent of relief.

When he had first spotted McCoy leaning against the overhang with a searching gaze fixed on the crowd below, he had taken a moment simply to observe him. There was nothing outwardly spectacular about Leonard McCoy, not from a distance at least. He was tall and fit, his clothes flattered his form to perfection, though it didn't seem he had deliberately arranged it that way. He was effortlessly handsome, and in a purely aesthetic sense, John had admired that.

Latent instinct had only allowed him a few moments to take stock of McCoy before he had finally succumbed to the need to draw nearer, ruthlessly tamping down on an unexpected and powerful urge to touch the man, reassure himself that they were both flesh and blood, not conjured in a dream.

Leonard hadn't so much as reacted to his approach, too fixated on whomever he was watching; his eyes flicked restlessly across the crowd, lingering only a few seconds when he encountered a scene of interest, completely absorbed in his own thoughts.

John wasn't sure he had managed to keep the tinge of jealousy from his tone when he had inquired whether McCoy was waiting for anyone.

He still wondered how much of Leonard's reaction had been surprise and how much was his subconscious reacting to the proximity of his Designated. Every study John had painstakingly unearthed showed an increase of activity in the amygdala and hypothalamus when pairs were introduced to their Designated in a controlled environment. Current thought held that an increase of key hormones was responsible for triggering the response that permitted outsiders to see the proof of a Designated pair.

John had resolved to conduct his own tests in that direction whenever time permitted. It was obvious to him now that a Designated pair, even a pairing between Augment and Human, could only serve to strengthen both parties. The next step would be to ensure that his crew benefited from his new understanding. But at present moment, he was finding it increasingly difficult to think in terms of strategy, not when Leonard had synced his footsteps to John's own, not when he had unconsciously drawn nearer even now that they were alone and well on their way to the transport.

Dark as it was, John could look his fill and none the wiser.

There was so very much to see, from tapered hips and purposeful stride to the way McCoy fiddled with that silver ring about his little finger, the only visible sign of his uncertainty. He dared not speak for fear it would bring Leonard back to his senses; he had very nearly lost him outside the club. If Leonard had lifted his sleeve then and seen the evidence for his own eyes, their tryst might have ended before it even properly began.

John Harrison had developed something of a reputation as a conscientious man, at least as far as any agent of Section 31 could afford to be, but it was Khan that was Leonard's Designated, and it was not his nature to compromise his own work out of some misguided notion of honor. He had lost so much else, this much he would take for himself, selfish though it was.

!

!

They chose the seat farthest back in the transport. John couldn't suppress a glimmer of pleasure when Leonard made straight for a corner seat, one that would not be readily visible to anyone boarding. Silently he mourned that it was Leonard's home they returned to rather than his own. His preference would have been to draw McCoy into his own quarters, to see him there, his scent mingling with John's own as they twined in the sheets- a pleasant memory for the days ahead.

John's rooms were sterile, nothing to personalize them; no holos graced the shelves that lined the walls, neither padds or trinkets. His bed was pristine and the sheets tucked in with military precision, all signs of habitation neatly hidden away. It wouldn't be comfortable for a man like McCoy, a man that still wore his grandmother's ring and carried his father's pocket-watch tucked discretely in his pocket, one prone to trotting out the quaint phrases of his youth at a moment's notice.

No. The doctor would be more at ease in his own home, and tonight was dedicated to a study of all things relating to Leonard McCoy. There would be plenty of time later to take McCoy to his home- not the bleak quarters assigned to him by Section 31, but his own ship. One of his preliminary designs that he would yet convince Marcus to build for him and his crew.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"Hm?" It didn't escape his notice, the way Leonard shivered at the sound of his voice or how they were nestled hip to hip despite the length of the seat.

Leonard chuckled self-deprecatingly, "Old turn of phrase. Something on your mind?"

John was well aware of the phrase itself, only he would much rather have kept Leonard from following the path of his thoughts.

"How far is it to your home?" John rumbled, throat tight with anticipation.

"Twenty minutes." Mischief lightened hazel eyes, showing a tinge of sea-green to its best advantage, "But I'll bet I can make it seem faster."

"Oh?"

The feel of a heated palm against his thigh answered that question, calloused fingertips catching softly in his trousers' material. John shuddered, hearing his breath hitch in the back of his throat when that hand continued its journey down to his knee, up again to tease at his inner thigh, higher still until John didn't bother to stifle a growl.

"Do not tease me, Leonard." It was all the warning he was willing to give.

McCoy only smirked, fingers playing at the seam of his pants, drifting up to trace the length of the zipper. "I wouldn't dream of it, darlin'." Now it was John's turn to shiver, inordinately pleased at the casual endearment when from anyone else's mouth he would have called it a maudlin affectation.

Leonard's knowing fingers were gone the next minute, leaving a chill of awareness in their wake. John glanced ahead, verifying that they were well out of the operator's line of sight before turning to capture Leonard's chin, tilting his head back until he could take a deep kiss, one that left them both panting for air when John finally released him.

"You will pay for that." He murmured, stroking a palm over his Designated's jeans to be sure he took the meaning.

"It was worth it just to watch you squirm."

John had no choice but to move away, putting a few inches between them lest he extract his price immediately. Leonard glanced up coyly from under thick lashes, his dimples betraying that he had noticed John's surreptitious movement.

Leonard glanced down, only then noticing that his sleeve was still unbuttoned, John tensed as his fingers began to tug at the buttons, uncertain whether he would undo them or-

"I don't know a damn thing about you 'sides your name." He slid a button into its mooring and John relaxed gradually. "So, I'm assuming you're with Starfleet? Can't think of any reason you'd be this close to headquarters otherwise."

In a manner of speaking. "Research division. Is there some reason civilians would avoid this district?"

Leonard snorted humorlessly, "Guess you didn't come from the San Fran branch. A handful of drunken cadets'll do as much damage as a riot anywhere else; they get the boot if they take it too far, but why put yourself near 'em if you don't have to?" A careless shrug suggested only a madman would spend his free time anywhere near Starfleet's finest.

"I guess if you're not from these parts you must be here on 'fleet business?"

"Yes. From London." John volunteered.

"Huh. Guess that explains the accent. You've got a funny way with Standard."

John arched an eloquent brow, fixing McCoy with a frosty eye.

Leonard only rolled his eyes despairingly, his faint blush suggesting embarrassment, "Beg pardon. I meant I don't think I've heard your accent before. I like it." He added offhandedly.

John tried not to study his sense of satisfaction too closely.

When Leonard cleared his throat-picking up his line of questioning again- John found himself torn between annoyance that McCoy should force him to prevaricate these little details, and pleasure that he evinced such an interest in the personal affairs of John Harrison.

The idea of Leonard developing any lasting affection for this mask pricked, though. He would have preferred to lay aside this avenue of inquiry until Leonard could know him for his true self rather than a pale shadow.

"All right, research. Not medical or I'd've heard of you." A studying glance, seeking confirmation. John nodded, allowing an inward smile to light his eyes.

"Damn it, man, give me _some_ idea. I've had better luck pulling teeth from Tellarites, and they're damn touchy."

"Ah, but if I told you, I would have to kill you." They laughed together at a jest so overused it hardly qualified as humor. John laughed all the harder knowing that Marcus would demand exactly that if he thought it would serve his cause.

"All right, my best guess is weapons research. I'll leave it there- it's polar opposite from my field."

"Medicine?"

Leonard's gaze warmed with pride, picking out the shards of warm blue in his hazel eyes, "CMO of the USS Enterprise."

"You are a talented man."

"Damned lucky too." No false modesty or pretense of being any less than he was; John delighted in the man's easy confidence.

Both snapped to attention as the transport glided to a stop, making their way out with all haste. As Leonard glanced up to speak with him again, he caught sight of the stars and fell silent, studying what few were visible through the light pollution. That was something that hadn't been mentioned in his file- for all his aviophobia, Leonard McCoy was an adventurer at heart. Plainly after so long earthbound he was craving his galaxies and starlight again.

"They are beautiful." John offered, pleased when Leonard unconsciously wended closer, nudging against him in companionable intimacy.

"Shame about the light, but I can still pick out a constellation or two if I squint. I don't suppose you've had much cause to leave planet?"

If Khan's feet ever left solid earth again it would be too soon. He had spent centuries floating in the black at peace, only to be rudely awakened by Marcus for his selfish designs. Marcus would pay in blood for his mistake, as would his superiors and those that had volunteered their service to his cause.

"No."

"You're not missing much. When you're not copin' with an alien plague one of the greener ensigns brought aboard then you're just trying to fill the time with something productive. Never a new face, never a story you haven't heard before."

"And yet you chose to ply your trade for Starfleet. You could as easily have been a civilian surgeon."

"Am I that obvious?" Leonard cleared his throat, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry. "I might've overreacted to a little trouble; it's a habit, one that's served me reasonably well most of the time."

Ah yes, his divorce from his wife of three years- Jocelyn McCoy nee Darnell. It galled John to think that Leonard had not waited for him, but then Leonard would not be a match for Khan if he were a man to accept the vagaries of fate without protest.

"Besides, Earth was starting to feel a little too small. I was gettin' claustrophobic." The wistful undertone in his voice set alarms to ringing, he was thinking again, chasing thoughts John couldn't begin to guess at, perhaps even entertaining second thoughts.

"You are chief medical officer of the flagship, I think that has put you in good stead." John allowed himself to draw nearer, basking in Leonard's proximity.

"Guess so. I can't complain."

Leonard turned down a smaller street, one whose silence was almost cacophonous in and of itself; the flickering light couldn't quite reach the little corner they headed for, a modest single-unit smothered between two ostentatiously large houses.

"This is where I stay when I'm not working. It's been a while since I made it back here, but it can't be too bad off." The offhand statement was only slightly tempered by the desperate confidence of Leonard's tone. Clearly he elected to stay in the staff dormitory at headquarters more often than not; Khan tucked the information away for later consideration.

It was a tense few moments while Leonard struggled to find his keys, the old-fashioned locking mechanism defeating one set after another until finally Leonard stumbled across the correct choice purely by accident.

McCoy stepped over his own threshold with marked hesitancy, taking in the sight as though it were the first time he had set eyes on it. He hadn't been exaggerating the length of his absence if that cautious step was anything to go by. John took a moment to relish the unnatural warmth of the house, allowing a lingering chill to seep from his bones. Nothing would ever purge the cool bite of stasis from his memory he was sure, but any source of heat was always welcome.

"Lights fifty percent. Temp twenty degrees." Leonard murmured, grinning with satisfaction when he received an immediate response. "There's a relief. I thought environmentals might be out after this long." By the time Leonard glanced back at him, gesturing him into the hall almost by rote, John had managed to stifle his genuine mirth lest McCoy take offense. Somehow this was exactly what he had expected of the doctor's quarters- a threadbare rug that Leonard wiped his shoes on almost without thought, synthwood flooring obviously worn but well-tended. Beyond, John could see a small table dotted with holos and knick-knacks, doubtless mementos collected over a long and varied career.

In short, McCoy had taken great care to ensure that he had a home, something that bore the indelible imprint of his personality even while the exterior might have been mistaken for any of a dozen other houses along the row. John spared a second to wonder what he had made of his office aboard the _Enterprise_; it was likely as neat and orderly as the rest of sickbay, nothing there to betray even a hint of an adventurous homebody with a taste for the eclectic.

A muffled snort brought him back to the present; Leonard had already kicked off his shoes, letting them lie next to another pair at the left of the door. "You _can_ come in; I swear I'm not gonna bite."

"Pity." The sudden shade of nervousness in Leonard's posture, hastily concealed, did not escape John's notice. "Perhaps you are concerned _I_ will bite?"

McCoy seemed to debate with himself for a long minute before finally offering an eloquent shrug that somehow managed to convey embarrassment, resignation and amusement all at once. "'It feels a little odd, bringing someone else home. Only Child Syndrome; I'm not used to sharing, but since I'm working on it anyway, care for a drink? I make a mean julep." Leonard started off, clearly expecting him to follow; John obliged at his own leisurely pace, studying the trinkets scattered about as they wended their way to the back of the house.

"I think I've taken enough this evening, but I hope you won't abstain on my account."

"Perhaps on mine if I want to be in decent shape tomorrow. Damn but those Andorian brews hit hard and fast."

It was only fair to offer an escape one last time, "If you are tired-"

Leonard shook his head, "No." The answer was uncustomarily terse for a man that had volunteered so much of himself at the slightest invitation. John didn't have long to wonder at the shortness of the reply, Leonard hesitated again before a closed door, turning about to face him. "Look, I'm not kidding about this being a first for me. I don't bring men home on a whim-" Here he chuckled softly, "Except when I do, apparently." He was rubbing his wrist against his jeans again, a pained furrow between his brows that suggested increasing discomfort.

He sighed deeply, cocking his head at a defiant angle like a man that had heard every argument before and wasn't about to brook them again. "I didn't ask. You know I have a Designation, is that going to be a problem for you? I'm not looking to send anyone on a guilt trip."

Plainly this had been an issue in the past; John damned the one that had put such a wary light in McCoy's eyes. "I am not foolish enough to throw away what another man isn't bold enough to claim."

Tension eased from Leonard's body bit by bit, even as his generous lips quirked in relief. "You didn't tell me you were a poet, Harrison."

"I think John would be appropriate." Appropriate yes, but not anywhere near enough. Already he was imagining what that husky baritone would sound like as it broke whispering the syllables of his true name.

"Force of habit, _John_." He toed the door open, glancing in as though concerned the furniture might have run off in his absence. Stepping in, John could smell the clean tang of verbena and a note of something earthy beneath, no overpowering scent of disinfectants such as Section 31 headquarters preferred. Almost he had expected the bitter tang of a ship's sickbay to linger even here in the doctor's room but it was becoming increasingly plain that McCoy liked a stark division between his personal and professional life. Everything in this home was designed to call attention to it.

"Pardon. It's a bit of a mess."

Disarranged, but not cluttered. Chaotic, but far from the 'mess' Leonard thought it. The room should not have agreed with his taste at all, but after months serving in the clinically sterile environment of Marcus' domain, so eerily reminiscent of the lab from his youth, he found the sharp juxtaposition calming.

That sly smirk that had settled on Leonard's mouth was having precisely the opposite effect, though. John allowed himself a pleased murmur when Leonard closed the distance between them to place his lips just _there_, over the pulse in his neck.

!

!

Leonard couldn't help but note the way John hesitated at the threshold of his room. Was he moving a little too fast for Harrison's taste? He'd be the first to admit finesse hadn't always been his forte, Leonard had always preferred honest passion over technical skill in his partners. The latter could be learned with time and pleasurable practice, the former wasn't something that could be taught. The twitch at the corner of John's eyelid suggested a memory- not a pleasant one if that brief flash of a grimace was anything to go by.

"Pardon. It's a bit of a mess."

John's expression lightened almost instantaneously, a brief negative twitch of his head saying that it wasn't the state of Len's quarters distressing him. Nerves, maybe? For all he knew this could be a first for John Harrison too; rather unlikely, given the academy's reputation as a veritable hotbed of self-exploration in every sense of the term, but possible. He briefly debated asking, but some questions were better communicated through other mediums.

That thought in mind, Leonard glided forward, pressing his lips to fluttering skin. John's heart was racing, and Len thought he could hear him catch a breath at the first touch of skin to skin. Testing the waters, Leonard moved farther down, feathering over a strong collar bone beneath starchy clothes. First item of business: get those off.

"Anxious?"

A puff of laughter ruffled through his hair, slender hands settling firmly over his hips to draw him just that bit nearer until it was hard to tell where one body ended and the other began. "Hardly. I might ask the same of you."

Was he? His fingertips were trembling minutely, an oddity in and of itself, and there was a chill that had settled at the base of his spine but far more pressing was the need to touch. "Anxious to get you out of this, maybe." Leonard tugged at constricting fabric to illustrate his point, sliding his thumb over stiff buttons and fabric.

"Then we are in perfect agreement." Leonard's oversensitive nerves had him practically leaping out of his skin at the puff of warm breath against the shell of his ear, the dark chuckle that followed only sending further shocks of sensation through him.

"Sensitive, Leonard?"

"Ah, yes." Between the darkness and the silence any noise was magnified, any touch. He could practically feel the blood racing through his veins, his breath coming markedly shorter already. It had been too damn long, and this was nothing like the few women he had brought home during his time at the academy- the body that he was mapping out with eager hands was broader, more solid, and he was enjoying the changes entirely too much. Leonard had always expected that would be the case; after his Designation had manifested it had confirmed his every suspicion.

The thought brought him up short, a sliver of apprehension lodging in his chest. That had to be the cause for his initial unease at the club; he was yielding ground in what he had always perceived to be a battle with fate. Now his Designation had resolved, he knew his Designated to be a man and no sooner had he learned so than he found a handsome one during a night out and immediately decided to bring him home.

No. Leonard had always delighted in the Human form, fascinated with its mechanisms and construction; this wasn't a case of surrender so much as it was a long overdue decision that he would no longer limit himself out of some misguided fear of 'losing' to a mark that had always been a part of him. He'd been cutting off his nose to spite his own damn face for too long.

"Second thoughts, Leonard?" John's nimble fingers had paused in their work; when had those buttons come undone anyway? Not that he cared, only he had missed the experience for too much over-thinking on his part- typical.

"None." He reached for John's shirt to return the favor, fingers hovering over the top button with indecision when a new thought struck him. Why not show off some of his lesser known talents?

Catching John's hands before they could move any lower, Leonard caught his eye and offered him a mischievous grin, feeling unaccountably lighthearted now that his decision was made.

"Y'know, my instructors always said I had a smart mouth. They didn't know the _half _of it." Just to make certain his point was understood, he dipped down to catch the top button of that pressed shirt with his teeth, carefully plying the button with his tongue until he could tease it through its catch. John's breath caught and held. Glancing up, Leonard could see that his pupils had expanded almost to the point of swallowing the iris, a warm blush just beginning on the skin of his throat. If that wasn't an enthusiastic endorsement of his skill, Leonard didn't know what would be.

Feeling considerably more confident than a moment ago, Leonard pushed that obtrusive overcoat off John's shoulders, humming approval when the man allowed it to drop forgotten to the floor.

The next button was a trifle more difficult, tucked in the folds of John's shirt as it was, but not as hard as Len pretended. It was only a rare sort of pleasure to watch someone come undone so easily without even a touch.

As he moved down once again, tongue brushing against exposed skin, John finally remembered himself, gliding his hands over Leonard's shoulders and winding into the loose fabric until Leonard could feel the tension in his grip. By the fourth, John had begun to pant softly, muscles jumping with tension when Leonard laid a soothing hand against his stomach. He couldn't resist sucking softly on the last button, catching John's gaze with his own and refusing to look away while he slipped it from its mooring. He was well aware of the picture he presented, lips flushing and eyes dilating with arousal, the faintest sheen of saliva escaping the corner of his mouth.

When John's eyes narrowed, fingers flying down to attack the doctor's shirt once more, Leonard finally knelt. John froze when he leaned forward to press his lips to the clasp of fine dress pants, allowing his tongue to trace a meandering line up the zipper. He felt lewd, flushing with embarrassment as much as excitement, but with John's otherwise cool blue eyes fixed on him with such heat, Leonard wasn't about to resist his impulses. Not since Jocelyn had he found a partner willing to indulge his shameless moods, but John was actively encouraging him with all those breathless sighs and twitching muscles. He had nothing to fear here, not gossip or censure; this was only one night and then John would be back to London and Leonard to his endless reports and late nights with Jim.

It was more temptation than any mortal man could be expected to resist.

"D'you want to see my best trick?"

John sighed unsteadily, regaining his composure long enough to offer an invitingly appreciative smile, "Oh, yes."


	5. A Fallen Man

Not in all his idle thoughts could John have conjured this image: Leonard kneeling at his feet, but not with an air of humility- there was arrogance in the set of his shoulders, satisfaction in the rakish twist of his lips, and an unmistakably admiring gleam in his eye that was wholeheartedly returned. John was pleased to find that even after his dedicated research, McCoy could still surprise him. He looked forward to seeing what else had been omitted from Starfleet's personnel files.

Leonard's tongue flicked out to taste his lips before he clamped it harshly in his teeth, stifling what must have been a nervous response. Just as quickly he recovered and turned the gesture into a deliberate temptation; John pulled at the strands of hair caught in his grip, a mute encouragement or admonishment, however Leonard chose to interpret it.

He swallowed a pleased hiss when McCoy's hands grasped roughly at his hips, the moist heat of his breath puffing against bare skin while his lips whispered over the clasp of trousers that had been too tight since he first laid eyes on this infinite riddle. John didn't bother suppressing a gasp when plump lips finally closed over the fastening, Leonard's tongue playing with the catch until it began to give. He paused only for a second when John's palms crept down to his shoulders, balancing himself while he thrust leisurely against his mouth, blatantly mimicking sex.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that he felt Leonard's breathing turn to harsh pants, his rhythm adapting to John's own until they moved in unison, sensual verging upon the decadent. Finally the clasp gave way; McCoy spared no time catching the zipper in his teeth to pull it free, his hands sliding the last barrier between them to the floor.

"Leonard."

McCoy started, sending him a look that managed to be both questioning and impatient. John was beginning to get the sense that Leonard was a man that could never be content to settle upon one mood at a time, blessed or cursed to experience every emotion as it struck him.

"May I take your shirt?" John gave an experimental tug at the offending article, watching Leonard's eyes light with pleasure.

" 'Course. Not fair otherwise."

After the show he had been treated to, John felt some repayment was owed. Leonard's impatience was obvious, but he was determined to take his time mapping out every inch of this body. There was also the small matter of the Designation, it should have manifested plainly at this point. It would be to his benefit if he were the one to 'discover' it; when McCoy's guilt threatened to interfere, John could use all that latent passion and impatience against him -he was more vulnerable than he knew.

Slowly John slipped each button loose, forcing Leonard to lean back so he could reach those farther down. A bared throat was a temptation he had to fight to ignore, but when he saw Leonard's compulsive swallow nothing in all the world could have stopped him from chasing the play of muscles with his teeth. Surrendering to the inevitable, John pulled Leonard back to his feet and yanked his shirt carelessly from his waistband, stripping it roughly from his shoulders as rich laughter filled the room.

This would be the moment of truth. Once he peeled away those cuffs, McCoy would see that he was complete, but there would be nothing to tell him it was his Designated that held him even now. Carefully John undid those final buttons, allowing that last barrier to fall away without help. He could feel the moment Leonard registered his Designation in the sudden stiffness of his body, the aborted motion to pull away. He dared not move too swiftly: McCoy was skittish as any wild animal while he processed this newest development, seeking a way to flee without causing undue harm.

Tenderly John raised the marked wrist between them, betraying none of the surprise Leonard would expect to see.

"I didn't know." Leonard murmured, beginning to pull away as his shock wore off, John could see the vague comprehension dawning in his eyes, the knowledge that at some point this day he must have been very near his Designated. He truly had no idea.

John didn't allow him to pull away; it was clear McCoy wanted nothing more than to cover what he had always considered a mark of shame, but if he were permitted to do so now that shame would always haunt him.

"Leonard." His Designated blinked sharply, opening his mouth to deliver an explanation even he couldn't understand, but John cut him off with his next words: "I told you, I am not a man to throw away what another is too foolish to claim."

The struggle was there in his eyes, part of him wanting to accept those words at face value and forget his troubles until morning, but Leonard McCoy was also a man that valued fairness, and in his mind the scales had just tipped beyond any redemption. John could see resignation stealing over his face; he was preparing to put distance between them, and that was something John could not permit. Instinctively he raised Leonard's wrist to his mouth, tracing the familiar letters with his tongue, whispering words there he knew his Designated was not ready to hear.

Leonard's resolve faltered, the pulse beneath his lips steadied, tension seeping from his muscles with excruciating slowness. John did not stop until he had ceased trying to pull away, but instead leaned forward into the contact. He met Leonard's eyes, noting the return of color to his cheeks and the way his lashes had dipped low again, no longer staring in disbelief. There was a melancholy about him that had not been present minutes before and John mourned the loss of the lively man that had brought him home, but this was only the first night of many between he and his Designated; he would learn every facet of Leonard's moods in the days to come.

"I never expected this." Leonard murmured; he was obviously torn between accepting the oblivion a few hours in a stranger's arms could afford and wrestling with this new development. Much as Leonard's intellect attracted him, there were times John wished the man was less prone to introspection. Still, if he had learned anything of his match tonight, it was that the man was an unrepentant sensualist. He would just have to make sure that Leonard gave in to his selfish impulses.

"Did you not say you had a Designation?" John's lips ghosted over his ear in that same way Leonard had obviously delighted in at the club. True to form, a pleasurable tremor wracked his body and this time he allowed himself to lean into the support so willingly offered.

"It wasn't clear tonight. I swear it wasn't. It must have been at the club. That's the only way this could…" Leonard's fingers had begun to pluck at the buttons of his own cuff; John wondered if it might not be a latent instinct driving him, but it hardly mattered since his own was so thoroughly obscured. McCoy relaxed further when at last his cuff came undone to show nothing but bare skin. John smiled against his neck, placing another soothing kiss there, content to let McCoy do as he would.

The other cuff fell away, exposing yet another bare wrist. Leonard hesitated barely a second before sliding the shirt down his arms and casting it away.

He grew impossibly harder under Leonard's dedicated scrutiny; there was no shade of clinical detachment in his eyes and when Leonard dared at last to touch him he could feel no lingering professionalism in it.

When Leonard's lips curved back into that daring smile John recognized from the transport he knew the victory was his. "T'hell with it."

He sealed the declaration with a kiss that was equal parts defiance and seduction, the very soul of temptation as far as John was concerned. He nipped at Leonard's tongue playfully, soothing the sting when Leonard gasped against his mouth; the feel of those damnable pants against his bare skin was almost more than his overwrought nerves could bear, and he was reluctantly forced to pull away.

Leonard chased his mouth for a second longer, savoring that last touch before he finally allowed him to escape. John reveled in Leonard's breathless laughter when he immediately attacked the belt at his waist, pushing him back until he felt his knees hit the bed. He pushed that final inch and Leonard sprawled beneath him, finally assisting with button and zipper until they interfered constantly with each other's progress.

"Here I thought you wanted to see me do one better." Leonard glanced down to his length, pure mischief in every line of his face. John couldn't resist another kiss as he leaned down to strip the offending material away.

"Of course, but as you said, it is only fair we should be equal."

"Hmm. So I did." John understood now the way Leonard trembled to hear his voice; that husky lilt in his ear would have brought a lesser man to his knees, as it was he was still tempted to the edge of his resolve. "But I'd say we're fairly equal now."

Leonard pushed his heel into the nearest knee and yanked desperately, twisting to reverse their positions. John stifled his reflexes with a split second to spare; he knew it would have been a simple thing to continue the roll and end up where they had started from, but if anyone were entitled to his trust on so frail an acquaintance it would be this man. Something in his expression must have given away his momentary chagrin because Leonard was already smoothing a placating hand across his skin, unconsciously assuming the tone John thought he must use on traumatized patients.

"All right, darlin'?" The half-smile said he wasn't sure of what he had seen, for which John gave silent thanks. It was unlike him to let slip an unguarded expression, but his discipline had suffered for all these months under Marcus' direction.

He leaned up to trace a line of kisses up Leonard's unprotected collar bone, following it to his shoulder and still further up his neck. "Of course." It troubled him that he could not offer any words of endearment. Kind words came so easily to Leonard's lips, but the only endearment John could think to offer him would fall instead from Khan's: Beloved. How could he not love Leonard as he loved himself when his own skin bore the mark that said they two comprised a whole? Anything less than the absolute truth would not be authentic, and an honest man like Leonard would hear the stilted falseness in his tone immediately.

Restless hazel eyes scanned his face, searching for an outward sign of his thoughts before Leonard finally met his gaze, "God, you're beautiful."

As he was intended to be. His creators had taken great care to ensure Augments would be superior in every way, but in this he felt they had miscalculated. There was a natural beauty about Leonard that cried out to be thoroughly explored; while his own features remained unchanged, Leonard's every expression revealed some facet of him that might never be visible again. There was no way to say all he thought, and even had it been a possibility, John preferred the concrete evidence of action to rhetoric.

He let his hands speak for him as they twined in Leonard's hair, grip tight enough to betray his need but gentle enough to remind him that this was a Natural he dealt with and deserving of care. John hissed at the feel of Leonard's fingertips following the curve of his hips up to his ribs, stroking back down again over smooth flesh. Once that same skin had been covered in scars, and if he didn't know it for an impossibility he would have sworn Leonard found them, his fingers roamed over some spots longer than others, looking for all the secrets his eyes wouldn't show.

Lost in the mesmerizing touch after so long without contact, John didn't have time to brace for that first searing lash of tongue against the sensitive skin of his cock. His gasp was the closest to a prayer he had uttered in his lifetime, and all the encouragement Leonard needed.

If he had expected mercy, he received none. One of Leonard's hands pushed him back, urging him to the bed without hesitation. John complied, dazed and enthralled with the sudden influx of sensation: a warm palm wrapping about his length, the cool silver of that ring Leonard never removed a startling contrast… it was nearly too much to be borne.

John had expected this encounter to be a rushed, frantic attempt to take the edge off their mutual need; he could not have been more mistaken. Leonard's hand stroked up his length, soothing and inciting by turns, his wrist twisting firmly as he came to the head until John surrendered to his need and bucked into the demanding grip, chasing the sensations as best he was able. All the while, Leonard watched him with a fey smile hovering about his lips, seeing every involuntary twitch, feeling the brief tremors that racked him.

Another too-slow lick, Leonard's tongue following the vein that ran up the underside of his length with careful precision until John released his hair, twining his fingers in the coverlet lest he forget himself. Leonard seemed determined to drive him out of his mind, lingering at his sensitive tip to lave the pre-cum beading there. His smirk was the only warning he gave before swallowing down John's length, all wet heat and the desperate flux of a wet tongue against over-stimulated skin.

John managed a shuddering breath, released on a groan when Leonard pulled him deeper, his ringed hand cupping heavy testicles, playing them in a grip that was at once too much and not enough. He fought the temptation to arch into the touch, gripping his support ever tighter, hissing increasingly shallow breaths between his teeth, but he was offered no reprieve. The first teasing scrape of teeth was enough to destroy what control he had finally gained, and John gasped out a muffled curse as he came, still fighting the compulsion to writhe into the pleasurable torment.

When the creeping blackness faded from the edge of his vision, Leonard was still lying at the edge of the edge of the bed, one calloused hand rubbing circles into the skin of his calf. From the flush on Leonard's face and the methodical flex of his muscles it was not difficult to guess what occupied the other. The sight was enough to rid him of the creeping lethargy in his veins.

Leonard uttered a murmur of protest when John pulled away from the gentle stroke of hand, leaning down once more to catch the taste of himself on gasping lips. As expected, Leonard opened to him immediately, ever the tactile sensualist; much as he enjoyed these interludes, John found he craved far more than Leonard had offered though hopefully not more than he was willing to provide.

John pulled back just far enough to feel the puff of his own breath against Leonard's slack lips, "Will you fuck me?"

It was impossible to miss the way he froze at the question: the shocked widening of his eyes or the jerk of surprise that sent his muscles leaping, but there was unmistakable interest reflected in that gaze too. With a visible effort, Leonard stopped the movement of his hand, still panting with an eagerness that was nearly John's undoing. As it was, he couldn't resist guiding Leonard up onto the bed, moving back and pulling Leonard forward to straddle his hips so that he could run his hands over the expanse of flesh that he had criminally neglected for too long.

"God, lube. Don't have any."

John suppressed the brief stab of disappointment, but there were always other avenues open to them. It was particularly hard to regret when Leonard was so obviously fighting the temptation to rut against him in pursuit of his own release. Practiced fingers ran down the length of his sternum, still farther to his stomach, watching the skin twitch and shift beneath his teasing. John allowed himself a moment to bask in the nigh reverent touch before he returned the favor, thumbs skirting up along Leonard's hips and over his ribcage to the flushed nipples he suspected would be sensitive.

If Leonard's stifled cry of surprise was anything to go by, his suspicions were correct. Leonard stopped moving, lips moving soundlessly in what John could only suppose was some effort to lessen his reaction; that he could never permit. A sharp pinch and soothing caress brought Leonard back to him, casting him a look that would have been chastising if he could have mustered the indignation, as it was he showed only a fraying self-control.

It really wasn't fair, after all. John intended far more encounters than this, why not take this chance to give Leonard what he had been denying himself for too long?

Leonard's arms trembled with effort when John relented enough to take him in hand, allowing Leonard to thrust into his grip, watching him come apart for no more than the touch of a hand. It was all too easy to imagine what he would look like, coming apart as they fucked.

"Husker's lotion." Leonard gasped out, trying desperately to keep his pace measured and draw out the encounter as long as he could. John offered no quarter, delighting in the increasingly breathless pleas and curses that dropped unnoticed from Leonard's lips.

"Lotion?" John prompted, tightening his grip at Leonard's base and running an unforgiving hand to his tip. Leonard keened softly, the sound cut off with an effort of will that was obvious to its only audience.

"Ah! For surgeons. Safe for lube-" He was entirely too articulate for a man that had gone so long without. John twisted his palm slowly, increasing the friction between them, feeling the wetness of Leonard's pre-cum as the glide became easier. Someday he would take the time to drive Leonard past any semblance of speech; he'd delight in reducing him to no more than a creature of blind sensation, but as it was the offer was too tempting.

John slowed his ministrations, no longer resisting when Leonard slowed and eventually stopped, panting desperately above him while he steadily worked down from the edge.

"Where is it?" John murmured, knowing the question would be understood. His own voice sounded husky and ragged at the edges. Unsurprising, his own control was no more than a fragile illusion that Leonard was threatening to take from him at any moment.

"Hall tree, I think. In the basket." Leonrd quickly gave up on fetching it himself, wincing slightly when he tried to move, blushing from the roots of his hair when John offered him a commiserating smile even while he grinned unapologetically back. It was the dichotomy Leonard represented that was always going to draw him back, John knew.

It was only a minute's work to find the bottle he needed, and loathe to leave Leonard's side for longer than necessary, John didn't linger. Any thought of exploring Leonard's home or taking stock of what more he had to offer was forgotten in the heat of the moment. Leonard greeted him from his place among the blankets, still shamelessly nude and making no effort to conceal his body beneath the blankets. John covered him, sprinkling nips over exposed skin, tracing patches of what might have been scars with too-gentle fingertips.

He intended to have the story of those marks from Leonard's own mouth one day, but for tonight it could wait. Leonard was already shifting impatiently beneath him, hands grabbing for his hips, trying to hold them closer together, arching into John's touches unreservedly.

"Enough, please." Leonard groaned. "I'm too close."

Tempted as he was to pursue that statement, John refrained. He was aching and desperate himself, and while the thought of pinning Leonard down and making him come with no more than his touch alone was certainly intoxicating, he far preferred the idea of sharing this last intimacy together.

The sound of the bottle's top clicking open was nearly deafening in the silence; he felt more than heard Leonard catch his breath and hummed approvingly at the slick feel of the viscous liquid against his fingertips. It was a revelation, the way Leonard's motion stuttered and halted at the first touch of skin-warmed lotion, hissing a breath between his teeth that John echoed not a second after.

"_Fuck_." Leonard collapsed against him, bracing his elbows to either side of John's head, planting kisses down his jawline while one hand twined encouragingly in his hair. He tugged harder than intended when John ran a taunting fingertip across his slit, smearing the makeshift lube liberally. Whispered apologies and wordless enticements puffed against the curve of his ear, Leonard's slight scruff abrading the sensitive skin of his neck, sending goosebumps prickling along his skin.

"Keep this up and I'm not going to last." Laughter mingled with the words, but John could feel the strain in his movements, hear an edge of earnestness in his tone that was all the warning he needed. John rolled his hips, shifting Leonard so that he could reach for the bottle once more; Leonard stopped him, neatly extricating it from his grip with a graceful movement that belied his state. "Let me?"

"Yes." John murmured against the skin of his shoulder, tracing that same spot he had run his teeth over only a few moments ago. Leonard swallowed sharply, forcing himself to sit back while he squeezed the liquid onto his fingers, any patience for finesse long since gone. John took a perverse pride in that; by all accounts Leonard McCoy was a man that valued discipline, for him to surrender it now was a sight John had not expected to see so soon- he intended to provoke the reaction as often as possible.

The first touch of Leonard's fingers was enough to make him grab for the sheets again, hips spreading unconsciously to permit a more intimate touch. The first crude thrust of fingers was unforgiving, two fingers slipping into him, pushing past resistance firmly. John arched into the touch, thankful that McCoy had read him well enough to understand that tenderness was the last thing on his mind.

"Good?" Leonard murmured, twisting sharply, studying him again for any signs of discomfort or uncertainty. He was ever an observer, and it was _maddening_.

"_Fuck_ me." John was not a man given to profanity, but all that was forgotten when Leonard's free hand clasped his length once more, stroking too gently for the express purpose of driving him past all hope of endurance, John was sure.

He didn't bite back the sharp gasp of satisfaction when Leonard finally complied, sliding into him with a twist of his hips that found that aching spot inside him, making him twist into the invasion, palms closing on Leonard's hips to hold him there almost too tightly. There would be bruises come morning he was sure, the outline of his fingertips against delicate skin; he was equally sure that Leonard was far past caring, shamelessly chasing his own release. John moved with him, slipping into a familiar pattern of give and take, meeting the push of Leonard's hips with his own and hearing nothing more than their erratic breathing or the occasional creak of the bed's supports.

Leonard jerked, stroking his palm over John's tip almost too roughly, the slick of lube awakening nerves already frayed; Leonard froze, face twisting into an expression of pleasurable agony as release overtook him. The sight was enough to tip John over the edge, heels digging into the mattress while he fought for that last moment of sensation -the warmth of his own slick coating his skin. Under other circumstances he might have been repulsed, except that Leonard was still thrusting gently, coming down from his own high with relief writ large across his face.

The frantic need abated, both of them relaxing into each other's presence, Leonard offered a tired smile, face still flushed and a light sheen of sweat covering his body. John was convinced he had never seen a more alluring sight. His own breath was coming short, not from fatigue but excitement: his Designated lay boneless and replete in his arms, glowing with satisfaction. If Leonard winced at the sight of the name scrawled across his wrist and turned it swiftly from his view then John could only be pleased at the visible manifestation of the connection between them.

Leonard hadn't allowed that mark to come between them, and while some primal part of John's mind objected, he found himself in awe again that this Natural should so thoroughly defy the idea of fate. It seemed there was very little Leonard would permit to stand in the way of what he decided he wanted. It gave John hope that there might yet be a place for Khan Noonien Singh when he shed this mask.

"It's late. I have a noon shift, but you should stay- at least 'til morning. " Leonard whispered, almost as though he were afraid of breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"I will." John agreed, and there was more of a promise in it than Leonard could have known. He sighed with disappointment when Leonard gradually pulled away from him, slipping from the bed with practiced ease.

A chuckle drifted back to him, "Come on, don't fuss. I'll be back in a minute." Decidedly too articulate. He would count it among his chief accomplishments if he could ever rob McCoy of his words for more than a few minutes. Ever the strategist, John began to review Leonard's every reaction, assembling a catalog of ideas for their next encounter; next time Leonard would not find it so easy to recover himself.

!

!

Sparks of color flashed before Leonard's eyes, the bright light of the bathroom making him squint. He tried to ignore the Designation on his wrist, glaring evidence that all should not be well. The one night he decided to take a stranger home he had met his Designated as well. At the club, obviously, but with so many in the crowd how the hell was he supposed to guess who?

Did he even care? He'd made it this far, and for all that Designated pairs claimed bonded sex was better, he had no complaints about tonight. Both he and John had been a little rushed, a little too desperate to truly savor each other, but this was only one night after all, and still his legs were trembling with the effort of holding him up, aftershocks of sensation racing through his limbs. It had been damn good in ways Len hadn't even realized he needed.

It had nearly been his undoing when John had taken such an interest in his Designation, shame and arousal mixing in equal measure; something about the worshipfulness of the act had been almost… sacrilegious. A strange feeling since Leonard had never counted himself a particularly spiritual man. The mark tingled now, continuously drawing his gaze back to it. Should he cover it immediately? There were bandages in the cupboard that would work well enough in the short term.

His hand hovered above the latch for a few seconds before he finally discarded the idea. John had already seen what he was tempted to hide, there would be no point in concealing it now. His uniform should hide it well enough tomorrow, at least until he found time to pick up one of those pernicious bands Starfleet's Designated pairs wore. He didn't relish showing this to Jim; he'd know straightaway that Bones had been concealing it for awhile, and given how forthcoming he'd been about his own mark, this secret would hurt him. Jim would find out eventually, though. Captains were permitted the details of their subordinates' Designated status, might as well report it groundside before it became an issue.

Despite the anxiety that still gnawed at the back of his mind, weariness was quickly setting in, and no small amount of comfort. There was at least one man that didn't give a damn Leonard McCoy was supposed to be mystically connected to someone else, and he was even now waiting in a bed that for the first time in years wouldn't be empty and cold.

He wet down a washcloth, lingering over the task far longer than needed. Some childish impulse made him scrub at that name once more, scratching his nails over it and hissing dire imprecations. It wouldn't wash clean, it never would, but Leonard had never wanted it _gone_ so badly as he did now. He would have given his right eye to see only bare skin, or even another name, one that he recognized and could deal with on his own.

When the skin was pink and raw Leonard finally stopped; it was no use reawakening old, destructive habits he had thought long since vanished. Especially not tonight- it wasn't fair to him or to John to pretend this hadn't happened. Leonard dimmed the lights and stepped out, making his way back to the bed quietly lest John had fallen asleep.

John was sitting up against the headboard, watching him with hawk's steady gaze. Leonard only just kept himself from deliberately concealing his Designation; he saw John take note of the gesture, a frown almost settled on his lips, vanishing just as fast. Leonard wondered at it but chose not to comment, neither one of them had any right to feel territorial; this was only supposed to be the night, except that he was rather hoping night would stretch into morning, and if John were going to be in San Fran much longer, maybe they could stretch it farther still- at least until London came calling again.

Leonard slipped in beside him unobtrusively. He would have been glad to tend to John himself, but this was not a man that invited care. "I thought you might like to clean up."

John nodded, but Leonard pretended not to see the hand that reached for the cloth, tentatively reaching out to stroke it across John's stomach. Hearing no objection he became bolder, taking satisfaction in the way John gradually relaxed beneath his touch. There had been something stiff and held back in the man's bearing all night, even when he'd been mostly lost to pleasure. That facade was melting away slowly, his eyes assuming the hooded look Leonard associated with ease.

"You need the alarm?"

"No." John matched his tone, casual yet intimate. Their conversation seemed mundane after what they had done, but it comforted Len as much as John.

"Good. I'd just as soon sleep in."

John hummed his agreement, not even twitching when Leonard's touch moved lower. Good God the man was half-hard again; Leonard bit back a quip about the stamina of Starfleet's finest, but only just. John must have seen the mischief on his face because his own lips quirked into a shadow of a smile. Come to it, that was the best he had seen from John tonight- melancholy seemed to be his constant companion. Leonard understood all too well, but that didn't prevent the sudden surge of misplaced protectiveness. If ever there was a man less in need of protection, Leonard hadn't met him; if he wasn't careful, he'd turn into the mother hen Jim constantly accused him of being.

He slipped out of bed quickly, disposing of the washcloth and returning to the warmth of the sheets as quickly as he could. He shoved aside the increasingly faint stirrings of guilt and fell easily onto the arm John offered, awake just long enough to feel the solid weight of another body pressing against his back. No. He couldn't bring himself to regret this decision even now, and it was with a light heart that Leonard finally succumbed to sleep.

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And we're updating again! I should have the next chapter up by tomorrow. :)


	6. There's Got to be a Morning After

Leonard wasn't sure what he had been expecting come morning. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd initiated a casual encounter and inevitably it had ended with him slinking back to the _Enterprise _by nightfall, his shift on shore-leave already fading to a vague memory. Ever the gentleman, he had always taken care to at least wake his partner and murmur a few complimentary words, maybe steal a few kisses before he left.

Yet when he woke, midmorning sunlight was creeping across the floor, casting the room in a dream-like glow calculated to illuminate the planes and contours of the man still very much sleeping across from him, hips tangled enticingly in thin, cotton sheets.

He wasn't inclined to complain; what red-blooded man would when offered so much bare skin for his eyes alone? Leonard snuggled farther into his blankets, his shift didn't start 'til well into the afternoon anyway, so why bother getting out of bed until he was ready for brunch? Besides, there was no telling how much longer he might have to bask in the company of another warm body; unlike most mornings, his sheets weren't crisp and cold and there was a slight dip in his mattress that gave it a softness normally lacking.

No. He damn well wasn't going to move until nature made him.

Sometime during the night he must have migrated to the other side of the bed; his head lay comfortably on its own pillow and John's fingertips were twitching in his sleep, almost like he was still reaching out for something, or someone, that had slipped his grasp. On a whim, Leonard shuffled nearer, easing back in to the embrace he had shrugged off in his sleep- John's twitching immediately stopped, the slight frown-lines between his brow smoothing out.

Unbidden, a memory came to mind of Jim solemnly telling him never to trust a man that frowned even in his sleep. Kind people, Jim swore, always looked innocent, lines of care eased by sleep's hand. The wicked bastards that could still sleep under the weight of their sins never looked so helpless.

Of course, since Jim had been well on his way to drunk and getting over his breakup with an Andorian cadet, Leonard had simply poured him another drink and nodded agreeably.

More relevant memories flooded in: the feel of those fingers tangled in his hair, of demanding lips against his own and the desperate tug of nimble hands urging him to move faster. His mouth curved into a satisfied smile as he stretched, savoring the pleasant twinge of small muscles that hadn't been so thoroughly worked in ages. Now that his body was finally beginning to wake up he could feel small bruises checking in, a tingling in his lips that said he wouldn't be able to hide what he had been up to and at last, mother nature checking in to say that lazing around all morning was not an option.

Regretfully, Leonard slid out of John's reassuringly sturdy arms once more, padding to the bathroom and seeing to his needs as quickly as he could. The tile was cold against his bare feet, shocking him awake until the very last of sleep's cobwebs were dusted away, leaving him with a vague feeling of unease. He contemplated it while he brushed his teeth, watching his Designation flash in the mirror, taunting him with its newest mystery. This time, he nearly had the strength to ignore it. When his eyes landed on the curve of those letters, he was reminded of Khan's- dammit- _John's_ tongue following the tracery, uncaring of what that damn mark meant.

He replayed that moment again and again in his mind's eye until he ceased to worry at the problem of how the hell he could have bumped into _Khan Noonien Singh_ without knowing. So much for all that bullshit about primal connections and instant understanding. Another fairytale debunked, and Leonard couldn't think of a more satisfying way of going about it. He'd be sure to tell Jim as soon as he saw him again. Or maybe not, romantic that he was, Jim wouldn't thank him for it.

Leonard wished him the best of luck, but he thought he had the longer end of the stick. There was none of the usual senseless guilt plaguing him this morning, none of the remorse he had still half-expected to feel upon waking.

When he strode out to find John awake and watching him from the bed with open appreciation, the last of Leonard's misgivings vanished. "Mornin'."

"Good morning." John purred, voice still rough with sleep. Leonard was proud he kept his knees from buckling until he was safely back to the bed. John didn't object when he fell into it gracelessly, swarming across the expanse between them so that he could steal a few more moments of intimacy with another human being. He was a greedy man, but John wasn't objecting; he helped to close the distance between them, tucking Leonard back into the crook of his arm without any regard for his circulation.

"I wasn't sure you'd stay." Leonard hadn't meant it to sound accusatory, but John's smooth palm ceased its promising glide up his hip.

"Would you rather I hadn't?" His voice was entirely neutral, but something in John's stillness suggested he had a vested interest in the answer.

"'M glad you did. Are you gonna stick around to eat?"

John's hand tightened on his hip for the merest second, "Yes."

Whatever playful response he had intended was lost somewhere between lungs and vocal chords. Hell, he'd known the man was a looker last night at the bar, but he hadn't quite been prepared for the sight that confronted him by daylight.

John's eyes were an unnatural blue, paler even than Jim's and lit with the same endlessly inquiring light; his dark hair made the contrast all the more startling. High cheekbones and a patrician nose gave him an air of haughtiness, not easily achieved when one was still naked, tousled, and laying in another man's bed. Leonard had to admire his self-possession, even as some wicked imp tried to prod him into wrecking it. Was it his fault he'd always had a weakness for reserved men come undone?

Leonard forced his mind back to the present, determined to be a pleasant host."D'you need a shower? You're welcome to mine." _We could share_. He bit that one back, barely. Heaven knew he could use a few minutes to sort himself out, and John was probably feeling the same way.

Except that when Leonard tried to pull away John held him fast, eyes drifting over his face, drinking in every nuance of his surprised expression. "Of course." Leonard jumped at the unexpected words. What the hell was he responding to again? Ah. Shower. Right.

"Left knob is hot. Right is cold. I'll get a start on breakfast if you're inclined to let me go."

He huffed a soft laugh when John nuzzled into the curve of his neck, free hand pulling him nearer. "And if I chose to keep you?" He punctuated the question with one of those lingering kisses he'd indulged in so often the night before. Leonard tilted his head back, reveling in the touch; he hadn't woken up with anyone since the split with Jocelyn, and damned if he wasn't feeling the ache of that now.

"We'd get nothing done, I'd miss my shift, and I'd blame you." The words would have been far more intimidating if he could have been stern rather than wistful.

John sighed against his skin, pulling away with visible reluctance; much as Leonard regretted a missed opportunity, that didn't stop him admiring the view when John slid out of bed. Good God. Tight muscles coupled with a languid grace he had personally never been able to achieve. John cast about for his clothes, bending to snatch them from the floor without a hint of self-consciousness; for some reason that brought a light blush to his face that only darkened when John caught his eye and flashed him an enigmatic smile.

Leonard's breath stuttered to a halt when John leaned over the edge of the bed, pressing pale lips against his ear to whisper the most promising words he'd heard all morning: "Join me."

"Not fair trying to tempt a man twice." Just to prove that John wasn't the only one capable of being provocative, Leonard made an exaggerated show of arching into a stretch, groaning with satisfaction. "Besides, I'm starving and I need my coffee stat."

John's hastily concealed pout was definitely one of the greatest compliments he had received to date. He took a perverse pleasure in grinning back, "If you don't hurry, I'll drink your share of the coffee."

"By all means, I don't drink it."

"Sacrilege." Leonard pushed himself up, deftly maneuvering around John and making his way to the dresser pushed against the wall. Damned if he was going to dress all the way yet, but a pair of sweats wouldn't be amiss. The scrubs the 'fleet mandated for groundside work had such short sleeves, he'd have no choice but to wear a binding to cover his Designation; Christine and M'benga would have a heyday trying to guess at his sudden change of convictions. It wouldn't take them more than ten minutes combined to figure him out.

This was all so much more complicated than he had ever counted on.

A pang of remorse had him pausing before the dresser to stare vacantly into the mirror; he didn't see the guarded look John had fixed on him, tension returning to every line of his body.

Somewhere out there some poor bastard was going through the same crisis as he. Khan Noonien Singh had to be every bit as confused, probably a little hopeful, maybe a little distressed. It wasn't every day a Designation resolved with no sign of a matching Designated. They had to have met at the bar, and presumably Khan would have noticed his own altered status by now. Would he report it? If he did, Leonard could track him down and…

And what? Confess that he'd just had the best sex of his life with a man he had known for all of ten minutes before deciding to take him home? Admit that even with the proverbial itch scratched and no commitment between them he was hoping for an encore? There wasn't exactly an etiquette guide to informing the other half of one's soul that someone else had crept into their place overnight. That was exactly how it had happened with Jocelyn- with him one day and gone the next, regretful and relieved all at once.

Obviously he was as damaged as his parents had suspected. Here he had the chance to track down the one being in all the universe that might understand every facet of him, the one that he had hoped and prayed for as a child, even sought as a man…and he was turning his chance down because there was something about a stranger that had captured his interest. Fickle. He was so goddamn _fickle _that he couldn't even-

"Leonard."

John's soft voice yanked him from his brown study in a split second. Leonard met his gaze in the mirror, bending to open a drawer and pull out his sweats; no shame was forthcoming, not for any of his actions, and somehow that felt like the greatest betrayal of all.

"D'you need something?"

"You seem troubled."

"I just need that coffee. I'm not even human until I've had it." Leonard forced a laugh, but he could see John didn't buy it for a second. He wasn't about to come clean with all these thoughts, not after the trouble John had gone to last night to assure him this Designation meant nothing. That would be presuming entirely too much on such a frail acquaintance.

Jim. Jim would understand. He'd have to speak with him this evening. Maybe even this afternoon if he could con him into having a late lunch at the clinic's cafeteria. Jim swore up and down hospital food was amazing, probably because anything tasted fantastic when weighed against his confirmed bachelor cooking.

When he glanced back in the mirror, John had already vanished into the bathroom and partially closed the door behind him. Leonard struggled with an overwhelming urge to shuck the damn pants and follow after, tell John that he had changed his mind and they should be conserving water. Without anyone else for company, Leonard had nothing but his own mind to retreat to, and that was no longer a haven.

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John swore viciously as he stepped into the shower, glaring balefully at the bare skin on his wrist. Leonard's distress was effecting him keenly, especially now that he no longer had him in sight. After all that Len had so willingly given last night, John wasn't about to push the issue of sharing a bathing ritual even if his mind was revolting at the thought of leaving Leonard alone while he still radiated such terrifying vulnerability.

It was remarkable how few inhibitions Leonard had when it came to his emotions; every thought was on display, every reaction honestly given. That could so easily be turned against him, but either Leonard didn't realize it or he simply didn't care. John enjoyed his openness, perhaps because he himself had never been so unguarded.

He frowned with dismay when he noticed a discoloration spreading across his wrist; his blind wouldn't be lasting much longer. His plans for the afternoon would have to change, but perhaps it was just as well to give Leonard his solitude.

Not willing to take any chances, John slipped into his clothes and checked to be sure the cuff of his sleeve would hide his mistake. Considering this was the material Section 31 had to work with, it was no wonder their casualties were consistently high. For his own sake, he intended to apply himself to the problem of finding a more lasting solution; it was impossible to say how long it would take before Marcus and his superiors were satisfied with the weapon's testing parameters. He had no intention of sacrificing any time with his Designated while he waited.

It was certain that Marcus would now know of John Harrison's whereabouts, equally certain that he would divine the cause for it. There was no reason to attempt denying it; the old man would see only another weakness to be exploited. Perhaps he would even convince himself that Khan's loyalty to his Designated would translate into a pseudo-loyalty toward the Federation. Either way, he would not forbid contact with Leonard, leaving John free to pursue a courtship.

The room still smelled of them, sex mingling with the patchouli scent of the night before. It would not have been pleasant save for the memories it evoked; phantom touches still lingered on his skin, and Leonard's hoarse profanities still echoed softly in his ears. John eyed the bed with longing- there was still so much to learn of each other. The darkness had provided its own false intimacy, but he would have given the world to plainly see agonizing pleasure writ across Leonard's face.

Would he be so bold in the light of day, still demanding and offering every part of himself for the gift it was? Or would it recall his dignity, making him bite back every plea and fight his need?

Both were appealing. There was no way John would not take Leonard McCoy: proud or humble, demanding or offering, impossibly gentle or utterly ruthless- he wanted every part, but not all at once. Bit by bit, slowly over many years so that the mystery would nearly drive him mad with need, but his patience would mean that every piece would be offered willingly without fear of judgment.

It would require very careful planning on his part. Leonard was an honest man to a fault, John thought; when he learned John's true nature, he would inevitably feel betrayed. His pride would require nothing less than an absolute break between them. Loyalty would demand that he serve the Federation in any way he could, even offering up his own Designated for justice.

Could he do it? If he thought John were assured a fair trial then the answer was undoubtedly yes. But if he knew everything, from Marcus to the Botany Bay and the fate Khan Noonien Singh was assured upon his return? Leonard was not a killer, he would no more deliver a man to his execution than he would carry out the sentence himself.

The problem of how they would proceed once his vengeance was complete and his crew accounted for could wait for another day.

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When John strode into the kitchen, disappointingly clothed and radiating an almost palpable air of distraction, Leonard was already halfway through a towering mug of hot coffee. His next sip burned his tongue and scalded all the way down his throat. One of these days he would master the art of finishing a cup without hurting himself, but this morning it was not to be. John glanced up at his pained cough, taking in his reddening face and the hand at his throat; Leonard tried not to gape in disbelief when John glided to a cabinet, casually pulling down a mug and filling it with cool water.

"How th'hell did you guess where I kept those?"

"It is the nearest cabinet to the sink. Logically you would keep your glasses there." There was a wealth of amusement in that soft voice, Leonard could _hear_ his lips curving into a smile as he spoke.

John pressed the glass into his hand, hovering until Leonard could work his throat enough to take a swallow, resisting the urge to gulp it too quickly. He _would _be a gentleman, he'd been slacking off in that respect for a while. It was high time he started practicing his manners again. Only maybe not today. Tomorrow was as good a time to start as any other.

He stood, ostensibly carrying the glass to the sink, but really waiting until John returned for his own breakfast before leaning over to run a questioning finger along the curve of his ear. John's breath caught, and Leonard couldn't quite keep a pleased smirk from his lips, even as he teased.

"You don't happen to know a Vulcan by the name of Spock, do you? Couple inches shorter 'n you, a little paler, looks like he has a brass poker for a spine?"

"I'm sure I do not." John still hadn't moved, frozen by a featherlight touch.

"Good. The last thing I need is _two_ of you logical types." Leonard pulled away, puzzled at John's disappointed glance. He gestured to the small plate pushed back on the counter, nothing more than a couple slices of bread, charred to a crisp just the way he liked. He hadn't even thought to ask John if he might have preferred it another way, just gone ahead and foisted this off on the man. He'd surely backslidden since joining Starfleet; some host he was proving to be.

"I was going to make pancakes." Leonard nodded to the meager offering, "But pancakes without syrup are about the saddest thing I've ever tasted. If you don't like your toast burnt-"

John snatched the plate before Leonard could lay a hand on it, evidently pleased with what he saw, or at least kind enough not to say otherwise. They settled at the table, the very picture of peaceful domesticity had anyone cared to paint it. The silence that fell between them wasn't strained or unnatural, but it gave Leonard entirely too much leeway to think of other, pressing concerns.

To his dismay, slipping John his ComSig had become top priority. Last night had been one for the proverbial books, and if there was even a slim chance John felt the same way, he was going to press his advantage. it might not be healthy, and he knew there were any number of folk who would say it was downright _immoral_, but given the choice between hunting down a Designated that hadn't tried to contact him in all the months since that mark first resolved or going after a man that had already made it plain he didn't give a good damn what that scrawl said, Leonard knew which he was going to choose.

"You were restless last night. Pleasant dreams?" When Leonard was a boy, he'd once seen a cat look at a songbird in just that way, all bright-eyed curiosity and sly intent. David McCoy had scolded him something terrible for running out and scaring the poor thing away before the cat could make a move. Leonard felt a new sympathy for the bird; how the devil was he supposed to know what answer the man was expecting?

"I wouldn't know. I never remember 'em." It was mesmerizing, watching John's hands move so deftly while he spread honey atop the toast, its quantity carefully measured in exactly the way that Spock favored.

Leonard preferred the 'dump everything on top and spread it liberally' school of thought, himself, but the Vulcan must have rubbed off on him because there was a peculiar sense of satisfaction in watching John use that blade so precisely.

"And you? Pleasant dreams?"

"Very." The word dripped with a wealth of suggestiveness, enough that Leonard downed another sip of coffee too fast, covering his reaction by biting off far more than he could comfortably chew. Normally breakfast was a quiet affair, dragged out just long enough so that he could digest the day's news along with his food, but he was enjoying this light banter far more than he had a right.

"Are you just gonna keep me in suspense?"

"Until next time, I think."

Leonard raised a brow, not yet secure enough to make a quip about the presumptuous statement, but trusting his message would come through loud and clear. John only continued to sip at his drink, eyes never once leaving Leonard's face.

"Do you need to be out of here any time soon? My shift starts at three, but I can help you back to the transport station if you need."

"I remember the way." John visibly hesitated, leaning back in his chair and assuming an attitude of disinterest Leonard saw through in a second. "If your shift begins at three, I assume you will be leaving late."

"Late enough. Was there a question in there somewhere?" If he was feeling mischievous, very little of it bled into his tone.

"Do you have an escort home?"

Leonard laughed aloud, "It takes a special kind of fool to mess with Starfleet personnel, but normally I wouldn't object, if you're offering."

"Normally?"

"I skipped out early yesterday. If anything could make me regret it, it'll be the shift I'm working to make up for it." He didn't bother covering his wince. Christine would probably have a stack of paperwork on his desk a mile high and then some.

"I hope the gain outweighed the cost?"

Leonard snorted, "No contest. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

John rose, "Are you sure? I'd be pleased to-"

The chime of his comm nipped a promising development in the bud. Leonard swore softly, determinedly ignoring its repeated chirps. "I thought I was. But I could do with a reminder."

He'd just covered the distance between them when another comm began to chirp. Presumably John's since it sounded suspiciously like it might be coming from the bedroom. John gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring with annoyance.

"Guess you'd better check that."

"Wait for me." John growled, pressing a hard kiss to his lips that managed to convey lust, frustration, and fondness all at once. The man had a gift for expressing himself succinctly; Leonard was beginning to think wordless communication was shamefully underrated.

Though his own comm was chiming shrilly, Leonard stole a few seconds more to watch John stride purposefully down the hall. Without the protection of his coat, Leonard could see those pants did positively _sinful_ things to his ass, and while he had never really considered it before, shoulder blades were damn sexy when they were only just hinted at beneath a loose shirt. God_damn_.

Another chime had him swearing for an entirely different reason. It was a reasonable hour of the morning, but he wasn't on shift, no crises had been reported on the nets, and his acquaintances knew better than to think he would answer his comm if he had anything better to do.

_Captain K_ flashed tellingly on the screen. Funny, last time Jim had called he'd still been listed as Kirk, James T. on the ident. list; just another example of nothing being safe, sacred, or sane in the Kirk manual. Annoyed at the interruption, Len didn't bother with social niceties.

"What the hell is the meaning of this, Jim?"

His best friend and _bete noir_ grinned back unapologetically from the screen, looking chipper despite the amount of alcohol he must have imbibed the night before. "Hey, Bones. You ditched me last night, so I thought I'd call and see how everything went."

Despite the grin and cheery tone, there was genuine concern lurking beneath the innocuous statement. He could see Jim scanning the room behind him, eyes doing a lazy once-over of his body that held none of the lust he pretended to. For all Jim accused _him_ of being a chronic worrier, Leonard knew where the true problem lay.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm alive and well and eating breakfast."

Jim's entire face lit up, "If you're out of bed already I'm guessing your handsome stranger didn't quite live up to the standard. Y'know, Bones, I could hook you up with-"

"_Again_ it's none of your damn business, but his name is John, he's still here, and I'm not inclined to talk about it. Especially over an open comm." Len grouched, painting a forbidding scowl on his face that even the bravest of men hesitated to challenge.

"That good? You can't just leave me hanging." 'Boldly going where angels fear to tread' might not be the official motto of Starfleet, but if Jim had his way, that would change.

A pithy comeback hovered on the tip of his tongue. The uncertainty he had pushed to the back of his mind surfaced once more, making him down the instinctive taunt, "Will you meet me for lunch today? Just at the clinic, for a half-hour or so."

Jim stiffened, instantly on the alert again. Had it been anyone else Leonard would have smiled and made a deprecating remark to put him at ease, but there was no use dissembling with Jim; after three years as roommates and partners in crime, there was very little either one could slide past the other.

"You want me to drop by now? Ditch your baggage and gimme twenty minutes."

"I said lunch, Jim. I haven't finished breakfast." Jim nodded agreement, but Leonard couldn't miss the shift of his jaw that indicated he was still considering an emergency intervention.

"If you invade the sanctity of my home after I just said _no_, I will kick your ass out to the street for the waste disposal units."

Jim relaxed immediately, sensing Bones' outrage wasn't remotely feigned. "Late lunch. Clinic. I'll check in and you get to me when you can."

"All right, I need to go." Leonard signed off abruptly when he heard John's measured stride coming down the hall.

"Holy hell, are you all right?" John's eyes glittered with something very near rage, cheeks flushed with high emotion; his clipped movements and stiff expression confirmed he'd heard nothing good.

"Bureaucracy. My superiors are yanking my chain for amusement's sake." He shrugged into his coat with a violent twist, features softening only slightly when he noted Leonard's worried glance. "I'm afraid I won't be able to join you tonight." Honest regret mingled with a gentle gaze, John's voice lacked the edge of a second ago.

"Maybe some other time." Leonard didn't feel like examining his misplaced sense of disappointment. No promises. That was the whole point of casual encounters. Only now did he properly remember why he'd never liked indulging in them before: he had a nasty habit of getting attached.

He followed John to the entrance, determined to snatch a final kiss of farewell at the least, only to find himself plastered against the same back he had been admiring not ten minutes past. Leonard didn't have time for more than a startled exhale before John spun unexpectedly, shoving him bodily into the door. Their eyes caught, dark hazel on slate gray, Leonard hardly noticed John's arms bracketing him on either side, holding him captive, cradling him close. A hand slid up the curve of his neck, pushing his head back to bare his throat. Warm breath panted against his lips, John tilting his head in a way that was as much question as demand. Leonard lifted his chin, tongue darting out unconsciously to slick his lips.

"I-"

The next moment John's hand tangled in his mussed hair, yanking him into solid, reassuring weight. Ruthless lips devoured his own, trailed down to kiss a line up the faint bruises on his throat- memories of the night past. Shocked, Leonard didn't resist when he felt a thumb pulling at the curve of his mouth, demanding he open, quelling instinctive resistance.

John's mouth was hot and wet, exciting nerve endings already alive with sensation. He gave no quarter, his tongue forced its way past slack lips when Leonard tried to gasp a breath, teeth clashing as tongues tangled, thrusting obscenely in blatant mimicry of sex. Chapped lips abraded his own, sharp teeth bit at tender skin; everyone he met today would know what he had done. And Leonard didn't give a damn.

His world was reduced to the rush of blood in his ears, honey on his tongue, and steady fingers that curled into the slant of his jaw to hold him motionless. Leonard took as much as he gave, pliant but never passive, determined to leave his own mark and to hell with it.

He was dimly aware of his hands fisting in John's shirt, using him for support as much as the door; he couldn't say where one body ended and the other began. His feet slid on the too-smooth floor, John pinning his hips with a powerful thigh, grounding him while he sought his balance. Leonard knew he wasn't small by any stretch of the imagination, but this casual manhandling had him feeling like a bird caught in a typhoon, dizzy and off kilter-overwhelmed and unutterably calm all at once.

The kiss gentled, John's tongue tracing the seam of his lips in mute apology, soothing the bruised skin. It was a second longer before his hands dropped from Leonard's face, still panting against his lips, forehead to forehead, clever fingers tracing comforting patterns on the bare skin of Leonard's bared throat, trailing down to his chest and stomach distractingly.

Leonard jumped when one graceful hand slid around him, dipping into his rear pocket and pressing something there, lingering just a moment longer to explore the curve of his ass until Leonard rocked his hips teasingly, savoring a last shred of sensation.

He wanted to say something witty, maybe just a quick reminder that it wasn't fair to start something you couldn't finish, but he was too busy catching up with the last minute to remember what he had in mind.

Suddenly a gulf of air separated them, John's eyes glowing with satisfaction, breath still coming flatteringly short. "I hope you will remember to comm me."

Leonard nodded speechlessly, jealous of a man that could regain his composure so quickly. For himself, he could still feel the intimacy of skin against skin. This had to be what all the scriptures warned about when they spoke of sins of the flesh- his body still burned with fever, and he had the feeling a dozen cold showers wouldn't wash that heat from his skin.

He watched in stunned silence while John straightened his coat and ran a taming hand through his hair. "Good luck with… whatever it is." Leonard managed, stepping aside to open the door. John's smile was genuine, if strained. He stepped out, taking the walk with ground-eating strides. He didn't so much as glance back, and Len had to admit he was grateful.

Tempted as he was to retreat into his home, somehow Leonard found the will to watch until John was safely out of the drive and making his way in the right direction before he slammed the door, resting his head against it while he processed the last few minutes.

_Damn_. That had been _filthy_. Len finally allowed himself to draw a steadying breath, leaning back against the reassuringly sturdy door. His heart was still thundering wildly. No surprise, it had been years since he'd had a proper kiss and he was damn sure he'd never been kissed like _that_. Was there a word for something between scandalized and needy? His heartbeat gradually calmed, and Leonard could feel the hectic blush of arousal fading; even after all they had done last night, it was a kiss that felt too intimate.

Leonard pushed himself from the door, making his slow way back to the table and clearing his dishes. He washed and dried mechanically, a smile still tugging at his lips every few minutes despite his best efforts to remain unmoved. It wasn't until he was slipping into his uniform that he finally remembered John had left something in his pocket. With fingers that were at once hesitant and eager, Leonard tugged the thin paper free, blinking at the sight.

Two ComSigs. One clearly for a personal residence… the other looked suspiciously like one of Starfleet's dedicated Sigs, but Leonard didn't recognize the code for any division he'd yet heard of. Weapons research, right. That was one branch of he'd never had much cause to deal with, small as it was; still, he was damned sure the Powers That Be wouldn't appreciate him using the number lightly.

He tucked the paper carefully next to the mirror, grinning openly now.

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Even three hours and counting into his shift, Leonard hadn't managed to wipe the grin from his face. He'd even caught himself whistling now and again, some uplifting tune he thought he might have made up on the spot. The first time he had caught himself at it, he'd turned to find Christine gaping in open-mouthed disbelief.

Her eyes had caught on the tan bandage wrapped carefully about his wrist. The only use he'd had for his first-aid kit this year: improvising a protective sleeve for his Designation because Starfleet medical _still_ wouldn't allow long sleeves groundside. She glanced from his face to the bandage, swallowing softly; he knew from experience it took a hell of a lot to rattle Chapel's calm, that he had succeeded would normally be a source of great pride. Now it purely annoyed him.

"The hell are you looking at?" Leonard snapped; it didn't sound too intimidating, even to his ears. Christine shook her head, shutting her mouth with a click and excusing herself before he could say anything more. Janice would hear about it by nightfall, and then it would go on to Pavel, who would probably share it with Sulu… who would keep it to himself because he valued his privacy as much as Leonard did. Maybe if he had time after his shift he'd stop by and pick up something exotic from the florist; Sulu was a master of the language of flowers, and Leonard was determined his own lessons wouldn't be neglected.

Christine was far from the only one to flash him a look, but Leonard stoutly ignored everyone else as he made his way to the cafeteria; dread churned in his gut, making his footsteps drag.

What was he supposed to tell Jim? Should he even tell him anything? He was a grown man, dammit, and far past the age where he needed approval to do as he pleased. He had made his decision this morning and had every intention of sticking with it.

There lay the problem. Leonard didn't feel half so guilty about that as he knew he should. Anxious, certainly. Definitely upset, but not ashamed.

He had never felt ashamed when courting Jocelyn either, not so much as a pang of conscience involved. But there had been no sign his Designation would ever resolve; he'd been free to do what he thought best. Jocelyn hadn't seemed so conflicted-

"I can already see you're carrying the world on your shoulders. You should get something sweet to go with lunch." Jim's voice nearly sent him vaulting over the nearest table, whispered in his left ear. As it was, Leonard froze, trying not to bark in front of the cafeteria crowd and feed an already glowing flame.

"Were you _following_ me?" Leonard hissed, shooting Jim a venomous glare that was normally as good as any public dressing down for shaming the kid into behaving. This time Jim wasn't cooperating.

"Not intentionally, I swear. I got in like, ten minutes ago? Yeah, ten, and when I came back from the bath-"

"I get it." Leonard cut him off briskly, snagging Jim's arm and dragging him unceremoniously to a table in the back.

Jim pulled away from him when they reached the table, straightening his shirt with a wounded air. "You _do_ know you're the only man that's allowed to haul me bodily across a room, right? Don't go giving anyone else ideas."

Leonard winced, "Sorry, Jim, sorry. I just- I don't even know where to begin."

"Food is always a good place to start." Jim clapped a hand on his shoulder, heavy and reassuring. "I'll grab something we can split, you figure out what you need to say."

Bless Jim for his night gluttonous love of food and conversation. Bless him for knowing when tact was best, even if he usually pretended he didn't know the meaning of the word. By the time Jim returned, Leonard could honestly say he felt himself again. He felt even better when Jim set a small plate of lemon meringue in front of him, stealing the cherry cobbler for himself.

"You 'n your sweet-tooth." Bones grumped, more out of form than anything else. Jim gave his classic response, spooning up as big a portion as he could and ostentatiously swallowing it before licking his spoon clean with exquisite care.

"I'm almost as bad as you." He smiled around another bite, but it didn't take a linguist to hear the barely veiled impatience in his tone. Jim was on his best behavior, but it cost him dearly to wait for answers. Out of deference, Leonard set aside his fork, stealing a sip of Jim's dark tea and waiting for the inevitable barrage of questions.

"So, did you have a good night? No, wait, I asked that already. How did breakfast go? Are you still in one-night stand territory or…?" Jim tilted his head and gazed meaningfully at Leonard's ring finger.

"I think I can safely say I'm not engaged." Leonard offered dryly, snorting at Jim's reproachful glare. "I told you, everything was fine."

"_Fine _or _good_? Because as Spock would say, 'fine' is insufficient by any stretch of the imagination."

"I was under the impression Vulcans didn't have an imagination? And damn it, Jim, I'm tryin' to eat supper, don't even get me started on Spock and his questionable advice."

"Just asking. So if you're good, can I ask why you needed to see me? I mean, not that I'm not flattered and totally willing to listen to you dish about-"

Leonard jerked back his sleeve, baring the makeshift band that hid his Designation from view. Jim sputtered to a stop, eyes widening in horrified delight. "Oh my God, Bones." It came out on a breath, reverence, envy and reluctant amusement blending seamlessly in his hushed voice. "The guy from the club was your _Designated_?"

"No."

"But then that means-" Jim's eyes widened, "So you didn't…?"

"I did." Leonard snapped defensively. If Jim even _tried_ to shame him for this, he was going to hang him out to dry. The next moment left him ashamed that he'd ever thought so little of his oldest friend.

"You're trying to figure out what you're going to do about it." Jim nodded sagely, "Can't say I think you've come to the right place. I mean, what the hell do I know?"

"You're my captain. You need to know this in case it ever becomes relevant." It was true, but not the whole truth. Jim would hear the plea for help without him having to voice it aloud.

"What, you think he's going to follow you out to the stars or something?" A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, there and gone so fast Leonard wasn't sure he had actually seen it.

"Or something. I don't know, Jim, I just needed to report this, and I'm _not_ going to a fucking psychiatrist. Privilege wouldn't even begin to cover me and I don't want Starfleet crawling through my business."

Jim sobered, bright blue eyes fixing him with a measuring gaze, "What do you need, Bones?"

"Your discretion, for one." Jim looked mildly offended, so Leonard rushed on, "And your advice, if you'll give it."

"About what? You've _met_ yours, even if you don't know who he was. I haven't even got that on my side." Jim glared balefully at his own wrist as if he could make it reveal its secret to the world through his own will.

"Was I wrong, Jim? I saw the mark last night; I barely hesitated in spite of it, and now I'm just so screwed up, and-"

"Breathe, Bones. You're all right."

How many times had he said those same words to Jim when things went south, sitting alone in their dorm with nothing but the darkness and him to hear Jim confessing his fears and insecurities? Countless.

"So you fucked a stranger. And it was 'fine.'" Jim offered a half-smile, miming air quotes. "Are you actually feeling guilty or are you just stressing because you _don't_?"

"I don't know." Introspection had never been his strong point. Leonard didn't like to prod at his inner demons often; he didn't think there was enough alcohol in the city to silence them again.

"See, I think if you felt guilty, there would be no doubt in your mind. You might as well be the official moral compass of the Enterprise, Bones. I think you know your own conscience."

"Then you think I'm taking this too seriously." Leonard slouched, taking another bite of meringue and rolling it about on his tongue.

"I never said that. I just said you did nothing wrong."

"What if I decide I don't want to do a damn thing? What if I just want to go on seeing this other man and pretend my Designation didn't show up in the first place?"

Jim smiled wolfishly, leaning across the table. "I'd say that as your best friend, I am entitled to a name and one hell of a story."

Leonard swallowed, tongue leaden as he forced his lips to shape the name: "Khan. Khan Noonien Singh." He couldn't stop himself from scanning the area, paranoia making him tense though he knew no one was near enough to overhear the whispered words.

"Where's he from? Why's he here? How's his technique?" Jim's smile grew with every question, obviously trying to provoke a reaction.

Leonard frowned, "I meant my Designated, Jim. It's Khan Noonien Singh."

"That can't be a common name. But if you're not hunting him down, I'm sure as hell not going to tattle." Jim shrugged dismissively, "So what's the name attached to that ComSig you're still carrying in your pocket?"

It was times like these Leonard wondered how anyone could mistake Jim for the happy child he pretended to be.


End file.
